Where Loyalty Lies
by CrazyIndigoChild
Summary: When Mistoffelees' mob life turns against him, he finds himself teaming up with his father's worst enemy to bring down the business. Can he learn to trust Munkustrap enough to uproot his hidden past? Munku/Misto, violence, swearing, death, graphic sex.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey hey! So, in celebration for the end of the school year, I will begin posting my BIG story (one of which I have been gloating about for the past little while :3) **

**So here's a bit of a different approach to the CATS than my usual stories, I have been experimenting with my writing style so there may be some inconsistencies between stories and chapters :) But I shall tell you right now  
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**This story contains moderate-severe swearing that will eventually ease up as the story progresses. **

**Also, this story will have warnings as it progresses. I don't want to say this story is slash because there literally is no slash until mid-late story, but it's still there and I fear that my slash fans won't be interested if I don't mark the story as so... though I didn't want to scare away potential readers who see slash as a deal breaker :(**

**Anywho, I'm rambling and soon this AN is going to be longer than the prologue ;) It won't take long to update for I have 11 chapters in the bag.**

**Great thanks goes out to my Beta-reader Delphicoracle-Cat**

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><p>He grimaced as he stood underneath the small, dirty bus shelter, his black raincoat growing sticky against his skin in the blistering, humid, summer air.<p>

To his side stood a bright yellow advertisement that very obnoxiously imposed its guarantee to make you smoke-free in just two weeks with a simple injection. He rolled his eyes at the need for such treatment; there were far worse things to be putting into your system than tobacco and pesticides... like this damn medication. He turned his gaze down the street, watching silently as the bus turned the corner.

A short, chubby queen with two equally chubby tom kits waded up the sidewalk to the bus stop. The queen followed his gaze and brusquely began shoving the two forward so as to not miss the shuttle. The tom just sighed as he watched the two loud kits start pushing each other over; he really hoped they d miss the bus. But, to his dismay, they made it to the door with seconds to spare. Pity.

He dropped his change in the coin collector and continued towards the back of the bus, leaving the bus driver's greeting to hang dead in the air. It was relatively empty save for a sleeping stray, the chubby queen with her kits, and a snowy white queen who sat forlornly. Her fur was soaked and clung to her frail frame unflatteringly, her bangs sagged in front of her eyes and dripped water down her cheek as she stared blankly out the window.

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly into a disgusted frown before it recomposed itself and he took his seat next to her.

"You look like shit, Victoria," he grunted repugnantly.

She didn't take her gaze from the window or offer any retort in her own defense, quite uncommon for the usually haughty queen. He stared at her for a moment before shrugging her off.

"You don't need my sympathy, you did this to yourself," he whispered lightly as he pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He didn't bother with hiding it for the entire company present would smell it in a few moments, not like he cared.

"Plato and I are in love," she whispered woefully, watching a bustling business cat get soaked by a passing garbage truck. The tom's icy blue eyes glared at her intently as she gave a soft sigh. He pulled out his lighter and burnt the end until it glowed a warm red.

"I honestly couldn't give a shit about your love life right now. What I do care about is how you're going about it like a dumb bitch."

Her head snapped around angrily to face his blas features, puffing softly on the cancer stick that sat poised between his fingers and lips. He grinned at the expected reaction he could so easily evoke from her whenever he pleased.

"Don't you fucking start with me; not today!" she hissed angrily, eyes now sharp and focused.

He chuckled softly before blowing a mouthful of smoke in her face, this didn't seem to affect her either positively or negatively. "Well," he began, lifting his feet to rest on the seat in front of them, "It seems that someone isn't getting any," he winked playfully. "Your tom not worth the trouble?"

"Fuck y-"

"Excuse me?" Their heads snapped forward to see the bus driver glaring at them pathetically in the mirror above his station. "There's no smoking on the bus!"

The chubby queen seated at the front looked back to frown disapprovingly at the two, clearly siding with the driver. Silently, of course.

The black tom rolled his eyes exasperatedly before addressing the plain brown tom. "Hey, fuck off!"

The two young kits burst out laughing at this rebellion; immediately they began their reenactments by telling each other to 'fuck off'. The driver's expression went tight as he turned around fully in his seat to confront the tom.

"Put the cigarette out, sir, or I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Like hell you will!" Leaning forward, he gave the driver a heavy glare, easily making himself the most threatening creature in the vicinity; more threatening than the gun he was carrying in his pocket. The driver averted his eyes from the terrifying tom and sped off down the street without making another sound.

The rude tom blew another mouthful of cigarette smoke, this time aiming it at the driver like the deadly, poisonous toxic it was.

"You've made a huge mistake, sis," he sighed, returning to their interrupted conversation. "Dad's going to put a hit on you tonight."

Her eyes grew wide and doleful, terror striking her very core and shattering her attempt at a tough mien. "Who's leading the charge?" she asked shakily. Her gaze snapped around the tin vehicle rapidly, looking for any suspicious characters who could have been shadowing her.

Her companion snorted humourously. "Who else? You don't think he's gonna let that fuck-tard 'Jerrie whack his only daughter, do you? He wants results, not load of bull."

She eyed him carefully as he took a drag from his shortening smoke. She quickly looked to the gun holster beneath his jacket, easily spotting his Browning HP, fully loaded as always and only a quick reflex away from driving 13 rounds of lightening metal into her thin body. He immediately caught her gaze and his smile broadened, both a threatening grin and a grim reminder of the child that once was.

"Mistoffelees,_ please_-"

"Oh, don't worry, love. I can't kill you... if I can't find you, that is."

Her jaw dropped as she tried to hold back a weak scream. He reached into his pocket and grabbed another cigarette; placing it in her hanging jaw and tenderly pushing it up so that her lips and teeth sealed the wrapper inside.

"You look tense, have a fag." He lit the end and snapped the metal lid closed on his engraved lighter. The design on it was simple and straightforward; the insignia of the Hidden Paw surrounded by a surge of flames, the bottom read _Hell's Angels_. Macavity's hitman squad.

Mistoffelees ran his finger over the cool metal before dropping it in his pocket. "Go," he began sharply. "Go with your tomfriend to the Jellicles, they seem pretty good at covering their tracks, I won't think to look for you there."

Her eyes watered over. She took long, healthy drags of the soothing smoke to calm herself, or keep from crying at any rate.

"He's not happy, Victoria." he chided matter-of-factly. "You can't just out him like that without paying a price."

She remained silent at that, she knew what she had done was treason, but it was for the better good! Plus, she didn't think it would ever make it back to her, at least not as quickly as it did: she had her father's web of connections to thank for that.

Mistoffelees turned to her, his bright blue eyes a dangerous shade of hatred with the loving concern of an older brother; the hand that rested on the back of the seat grabbed a fistful of her headfur to drag her head closer; fortunately not hurting her any.

"Get the hell out of my city, Vicky. If I ever see you again I'm going to blow your fucking brains out, you got me?" She nodded slowly, she got him. Loud and clear.

"Good," he whispered, stuffing a wad of twenties into her damp palm before pulling the chain over top. "Best of luck to you." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek as the bus slowed to a stop, getting up and stalking out the door into the heavy rain, not bothering with a last glance until he was sure she couldn't see him look back.

He watched the bus disappear into the mist of the heavy downpour. He frowned, knowing he probably would never see his little sister ever again, recovering when he realized how much of a pussy his loyalty to his family made him. He'd be sure to live up to his word should he have a run-in with her again. He did have a job, after all.

His mind snapped to the present at the sound of quiet beeping in the background noise of his mind. He flexed his hand and, with the flick of his wrist, produced a cherry red Blackberry. The name on the caller ID read Fuck-tard Jerrie. He answered the phone and brought it up to his ear. "This better be fucking good!" he barked angrily into the phone.

"Boss's got a job for us, come back to the warehouse before he sends us out after your sorry ass." With that, the line went dead.

He cut his end of the line off before tossing it to the ground, the device quickly vanishing the second it left his hand. With one last look to where the bus had disappeared, he turned his back to the wind and disappeared into the mist of the rain.

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><p><strong>Well, there you have it! I'll be updating in a few days or so :) I can't wait to hear what you think so far about this Misto and their cat infested city! *Woooo*<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

Wooo! Chapter 2! This is where the action starts... sorta ;) But I'm UBER excited to see how you like Misto's life of crime :D I rather like him having all this cool gear and such, gives him a bad boy air, very smexy ;D

_**Help! I need help! **_**For this story, I used someone's OCs; Natoli, Musalini, Irinblaine, and Kameness. I had it all in my inbox but the dumb change in FFN's layout deleted quite a few of my messages :( If you know who these OCs belong to (or if they're yours) then please let me know. I'd like to properly give credit to their owner because they were SUPER useful and awesome. Sorry if you're reading this and thing I've forgotten you :(**

NyokaDelFanfiction: As long as you come back to life then it's alright ;) I don't need any bad publicity O_o Lol! No trenchcoat! That's for NOOBs XD I joke, I joke, I may give him one now that you mention it... It's pretty kick a$$ Victoria and Mistoffelees are Macavity's children.

lilgenious: WOOOOO! It's about time! :P -tee hee- Now you can start writing CATS fanfiction ;)

A Super special thank you to **Delphicoracle Cat** for being my Beta Reader :D You're awesome!

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><p>"...Are there any questions?"<p>

The five toms shook their heads 'no'; there were never questions, just results, if you wanted to live, that is. They finished their pints on the wooden crates they had improvised for the most part of their furniture.

"Here's one," Carbucketty began, speech slightly slurred from power chugging both his and Irinblaine's, a rather new and rough fellow, beneficial pint.

The job was hard and every now and again a tom goes crazy from the stress and 'guilt'. Mistoffelees had already passed the point where his conscience just gave up; it wasn't going to help him survive, just keep him up at night.

"When a-are we gonna get a new place? Like... We 'ave to live in this shithole for how much longer? We've been here for four months now!"

Musalini, whose name pretty much described his personality, grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and yanked him to the ground. Macavity glared at him thoughtfully.

"Alright," he nodded. "I'll assign you new quarters when you get my work done."

The group gave a collective mental groan, if they wanted their new place, they'd have to work for it. Hard.

"But in the meantime, I have a quick chore for you to... attend to, before Victoria."

The group perked up slightly when a large folder was dropped onto the stack of crates the toms had transformed into a card table. Mistoffelees peered at the folder, slightly intrigued as to who his father's next victim would be. The folder slid smoothly on its own across the wooden surface to place itself perfectly beneath his waiting hand.

"Anything in particular you want done?" he asked as he flipped through the folder. The tom's profile was... boring. Terribly boring in fact. A common perp that had tried to cheat the magic cat out of his share of the profits he'd made; pretty much a lesson he had to send across to any other sneaky investors.

"Nothing too special. Just torch him or something, have fun with it; my treat."

They all nodded tiredly. The Napoleon nodded in satisfaction; this tom's death had been placed in the hands of professionals; toms born to kill. He slipped Mistoffelees a proud smile before he left the lot in a flash of hot, red smoke.

"Well," began Mungojerrie. "You heard the man: torch the bitch!" Carbucketty and Kameness started to holler excitedly.

Carbucketty took a minute to hush his partner; he lowered his hands for dramatic effect and muttered one word, "Molotov."

The others simply shrugged in agreement; molotovs were nothing new.

Mungojerrie frowned distastefully. "What? What are we, those motherfucking teens down by the pier? Molotovs are a load of shit, might as well TP the fucking joint when we're done too."

Mistoffelees grunted, obviously not wanting to put up with their bitching at this hour. "Get the fucking Molotovs and let's get the fuck outta here! I want this done so we can get our asses down to the Fox and Hound."

This evoked a round of hooting and hollering from the two rowdy toms. Mungojerrie snarled his disgust while Musilini and Irinblaine nodded their approval. "Eager to get some, I see?"

The tux tom just gave a quick, curt nod before he downed the rest of his pint and slammed it down on the crate loudly. "Let's move out before Carb busts a nut."

Oo oO  
>O<br>Oo oO

They stood in front of the victim's house. His name was Tobey, a gambler who happened to own his own little casino in the slums. Macavity had taken over half of his business to keep him afloat; he was an old friend.

"This is the place, guys," he called over his shoulder softly. They each took a bottle and, with their branded lighters, lit the soaked cloth. On his signal, all six toms whipped their cocktails through the windows where the carpet covered floor easily caught flame.

They waited as the building began to burn hotter and hotter. Mistoffelees stared; the fire represented everything they stood for. They were the Hell's Angels; fire burned for them and cleaned up their evidence. It roared fiercely, a lion going in for the kill on its pathetic prey. He felt truly proud to say he had been a part of this, just him and his toms creating art, together. It took about ten minutes for the screaming inside to rise over the beautiful roaring.

Mistoffelees shifted gracefully, his hand reaching into his sleek jacket and pulling out his flawless semi-automatic.

Habitually, he checked to make sure the rounds were fully loaded and clicked the barrel into place. He waited until the burning figure of the casino manager emerged from the building, his body dancing wildly with the flames that licked his body.

Many say that, to avoid getting hit, planes would use the immense intensity of the sun to thwart their assailants by hiding against its life giving light. Mistoffelees smiled; here there was nothing to protect his victims from his wrath, the fire only served as a backdrop that highlighted his prey loyalty. He took aim and, with two shots, sent the man crashing to the ground, blood pooling beneath the heat consuming his body.

The six toms watched as the roof collapsed into the main area of the low grade casino, smiling victoriously.

"Aww, man!" Carbucketty groaned, a lit Molotov sitting eagerly in his hand. "This is complete bullshit! What am I going to do with this?"

They all stared at him blankly; sometimes it was far more trouble having the excitable tom in their squad than it was a benefit. Macavity recommended him to their group because of his crazy obsession with fire and pyrotechnics. They thought it was just a favour for one of his close affiliates who couldn't afford his... destructive tendencies, in such a small corporation.

"Just torch a car or something!" Mungojerrie snapped from his place against the hood of his own car.

Both he and Mistoffelees owned the two cars used to cart around the group. Mungo jingled the keys to his black Impala SS, clearly eager to leave the now uninteresting scene.

"I'll torch your piece of shit!" the brown and white striped and patched tom retorted, raising his hand jokingly to smash the bottle at his feet.

The striped orange tom didn't flinch; he just stared blankly at the clown before him. "Can we get the hell outta here?" he asked Mistoffelees. who walked over to his own car in response.

The toms evenly distributed themselves amongst the two vehicles; Carbucketty and Kameness roughhoused over who got the front seat to Mistoffelees' dark blue Jaguar. The tux tom cringed when one of the toms' bodies hit the side of his car with a loud thud; last thing he needed was to dent his father's luxury car.

Musalini, lighting a thick cigar in the back seat, chuckled to himself quietly. "They're going to wreck this beauty before you do!" he laughed, referring to Mistoffelees' last car.

The tux tom's face grew hard as he addressed the two outside his passenger door. "Get in before I pop a cap in both your asses!"

The two stopped suddenly and chatted silently for a minute before Kameness' dark grey coat slid into the front seat.

"Jerrie's going to hate you, Kam," he laughed devilishly; Mungojerrie was probably the one tom in the group who was on the verge of killing the young cat.

"He already does: let that fucking prick suffer."

The three toms laughed before they pulled out of the driveway, headed for the gang's favourite after-hours hangout.

Oo oO  
>O<br>Oo oO

Mistoffelees threw his head back as he orgasmed into the small queen beneath him, a husky groan escaping his lips as his body rocked with pleasure. The white and ginger queen squeaked as she reached her own peak shortly after, allowing the light tom to collapse onto her slightly taller frame. They panted heavily, waiting to come down from their high enough to separate and regain their composure. The tux tom rolled off the queen heavily, lying on the mattress with his eyes closed, still panting softly.

The young queen was a cutesy little thing, a beautiful Japanese bobtail with an accent to match. She watched him through her long, white bangs intently; she knew better than to touch the tom who lay silently in a prone position.

After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and turned to the sweet smelling queen. "Thanks a lot, Nat," he breathed, kissing her sloppily on the mouth.

She giggled into his mouth, whiskey heavy on her breath, but not enough to make her pass as drunk. "I can't let you get pinned with one of those little sluts, now can I?"

He grinned, he wouldn't pay for any of the other queens; he only trusted Natoli to satisfy his needs. So far she hadn't let him down even once.

"No, you can't," he whispered playfully, kissing her again.

"Now," the queen began once he had pulled away. "You gonna tell me what's bugging you?"

Mistoffelees propped himself up on his elbow and stared at her fair face. Moments passed without either speaking. "I have to launch a hit on my sister in the morning," he said simply.

Natoli's brow knitted and her face grew concerned. "You... You're going through with it?"

Mistoffelees sighed, shaking his head vaguely. "I gave her 100 bucks and told her to fuck off before I found her."

His companion's face softened with relief; she knew he loved his sister as if she were his own child. He practically raised her when their mother died. She could remember how torn up he was when she got caught in a knife fight with the rally queens from the west side. He personally put a hit out on all 20 of the bitches before he sought out the respected callgirl. She had the bruises from their transaction for months afterward.

She watched his eyes glaze over; that was all she was going to get from the isolated tom. "You want another go? This one's on the house," she cooed.

A sly smile spread across his lips before he climbed back on top the now giggling queen. Gripping her hips tightly, he eagerly sought out the stress relief he needed.

He came out of the dark room, Natoli at his side. He scanned the lobby to find Carbucketty sleeping on the couch and Mungojerrie rolling around on the floor with some random queen he paid for. Figuring he didn't want to watch his partner mount a two cent whore, he led the young mistress to the front desk where she would see him out. In the front sat a very tall Maine coon tom, his mane well kept and fluffy and his smile sultry with desire.

The receptionist handed Mistoffelees his jacket and wished him a nice night; he didn't pay attention to the overly made up queen though, he was distracted by the coon's direct approach on his companion.

"How much?" the tom asked.

Mistoffelees turned to the tom, seeing his full height and colouring in the light of the ceiling lamp he now stood under. "Well aren't you a dirty son of a bitch?"

"It's Tugger, actually," the leopard spotted tom smiled cheekily.

Natoli silently pleaded with the tux to drop the subject but he wouldn't back down on account of his over inflated ego and the challenging cat in front of him.

"Well, I'm just sayin it's a little nasty to be going dick deep in another guy's spunk, that's my point."

The two queens silently exchanged glances, the tension rising. The two toms stared each other down, sizing the other up in the process.

"Well, I honestly don't care about who slept with who as long as I'm getting what I paid for," he finished with a wink.

Bright blue eyes stared up at golden brown ones threateningly; he wanted nothing more than to kick this prick's ass but was feeling the exhaustion from the day and his recent escapade sink in to his bones. He shrugged off the coon and headed out towards the door, giving Natoli one last glance before disappearing out the door into the humid parking lot. He trudged over to his car and leaned against the driver's door, pulling out a cigarette and his Hell's Angels lighter.

He took deep, long drags of the calming smoke, blowing it out in small rings. He heard a knock on the window from inside the back seat. Intrigued, he opened the door and peered inside, squinting. Musalini's head rolled out to smile up at the tux, laughing hysterically at the tom's perplexed and slightly bemused face.

"What are you doing?"

The light brown tom started giggling breathlessly, holding up a half smoked joint.

Mistoffelees chuckled taking the joint out of the large tom's hand to take a long drag, quickly tossing his fresh cigarette to the ground. He coughed and hacked, his voice coming out raspy and strained. "Holy fuck! What the hell is this, elephant weed?"

The brown tom began shrieking with laughter, reaching out for the joint in the small tux's hand. "I gotsmore in here iffaya want it."

His mind buzzed and swam pleasantly, making him giddy and cheerful. He immediately became intoxicated with the familiar sensations singing melodiously in his body; he started to sing along cheerily, jumping into the front seat. The car was sweet smelling and full of happiness, sparkles danced on the ceiling and the woman on the radio spoke with brilliant shades of red and orange.

"This shit's intense..." he gawked. Musalini made a throaty sound of agreement, offering him the other half of a new joint.

"Be- be careful man, dis crunkin shit goes like dat!" he whispered seriously, snapping his fingers for emphasis and staring in amazement at the ripples it created in the air. Needless to say, he was a very... interesting smoker.

"...'Crunkin'?" They both stared at each other for a few seconds before bursting out laughing, bellowing until their throats grew dry and sore. Before he knew it, the smoke had vanished and Mistoffelees soon found himself floating back into sobriety.

"The hell?" he huffed when the humming in his mind died away and the car became a cramped cage of smoke and leather.

"I toldya it wasn't foreva," the other tom murmured sleepily.

Mistoffelees fell back against his seat with moderate anger and disappointment before he remembered his stash in the glove box. He eagerly sat up and fumbled for the box, using a small, grey key on his keychain to open the locked compartment. He snatched the silver case that held his drugs and utensils safe and clean. He pulled out a large, filled bag of crystalline cocaine and waved it in front of the other's face.

"We gotta blow this shit up, man!" he hissed excitedly.

The other squinted at the bag, his brow shooting up in surprise when he identified the drug in his hazy state. "You stocked up? You just finished your last bag yesterday-"

"I know, right? I ordered it in advance so that I didn't have to go without it for Cat knows how long."

The brown shorthair watched his friend begin to soak the salts into a cloudy liquid. The younger tom stretched his elegant legs onto the dashboard as he waited for his drug to finish, humming quietly to himself the tune that played in his head less than half an hour before.

"...You're going to inject it?" The tuxedo looked back at him, focusing on his gluttonous outline in the dark of the sleeping car.

"Well I can't snort it; I'm in a car!" he said arrogantly, as if he had just asked the dumbest question in all 17 years of their friendship.

Musalini sighed as he slumped back in his seat. "You need to ease up on that shit."

Mistoffelees looked back at him through the alley between the seats, a blank, soft stare fixed on the older cat. "I'm fine," he whispered softly, his strong-faced facade melting quickly.

He just nodded, allowing the closeted addict to continue with his preparations.

Mistoffelees watched hungrily as the liquid got sucked up into the sterile syringe, the lines on the side showed the increasing dose of the potentially lethal drug. The second all the syrup had been removed from the spoon, he tapped the bubbles out of the cartridge and set to finding a vein on the inside of his thigh. Can't leave any trace, he thought to himself before hesitating, He'll see them... shaking the thoughts from his mind, he broke the skin and soon enough the vein had been punctured.

He emptied his lungs of the smoky-stale air, readying himself before pushing the intoxicating drug into his body. He waited a few moments before the familiar ringing in his ears began and the headrush excited his every nerve. He inhaled deeply as he pushed back into his father's fine leather seats. _Fuck him,_ he thought as he dug his nails into the sleek, Italian leather; piercing the costly fabric.

His body arched in the pure ecstasy of the drug, his breathing grew deep and rapid. Nothing in the world beat the utter bliss he got from a strong shot of his crystal devil; it was better than sex, better than watching the searing flames of a job well done... Better than killing. A large, toothy grin grew wider on his lips; a beautiful smile one would rarely see outside the influence of drugs. He sighed loudly and marveled at how all the pain quickly melted away into the dark of the car, Musalini snoring softly in the background of his mind.

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><p>There you have it :D Druggie Misto! Can't wait to update again! Soon my pets -hehehe-<p>

Reviews are AWESOME, almost as awesome as two angry camels in a tiny car ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright party peoples! It's time for another segment of Mafia CATS!**

** NyokaDelFanfiction: I thought so! HA! I was looking at them and thinking; I bet you a ton of money that they're hers... But I wanted to be sure. D: I didn't forget about you! -gives Misto plushie- you just briefly lapsed my memory... You are SO right! We get to see Tugger later in the fic two ;) I think you'll like it :P**

**Chirochichi: Why thank you :D That's the way I intended the fic to turn out! Though I didn't think it would smutty quite yet... ;)**

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><p>"We got a lead!" Carbucketty called up to the sleeping toms on the top floor of their shared warehouse.<p>

One by one, the sleepy toms emerged from their small rooms, offices used when the structure had been functioning. Irinblaine rapped loudly on Mistoffelees' door, yelling at him to get his ass out of bed. The tux groaned as he rolled over on his single mattress, stretching his aching back out before hoisting himself off the bed and across the room to his mirror and sink. His body ached numbly but it still hurt like hell.

He splashed water in his face, slightly surprised to find a cut along the top of his forehead. He poked at it delicately and winced at the sharp pain that shot through his skull. What had he done last night? He then dragged himself sluggishly to his mini fridge and pulled out a fresh can of root beer, chugging it happily for it quenched his parched throat. He side glanced at his bed when he caught a glimpse of a bloodied rag near his pillow. It didn't take him long to remember what had happened the night before: they'd been sent on a new mission.

Oo oO  
>O<br>Oo oO

_They sped down the Rolland overpass, dodging cars and pedestrians on their way to get the new target. He looked at the clock next to the radio; 11:43. They were __going to lose their shot at getting this assignment done if they didn't hurry. Screeching off the exit, the car nearly flipped on its side; he hadn't yet memorized the magic of Tokyo drift, therefore he couldn't drift._

_"Hey, fat-ass! Sit in the middle, would ya?" he called to Musalini who was thrown over in the near accident._

_"Hey shorty, learn to drive sometime, eh?" came the loud response. Irinblaine clutched the handle bar of his door tightly; the new tom hadn't yet familiarized __himself with Mistoffelees' fashion of driving._

_Mistoffelees glanced back at the clock: 11:50._

_"Fuck! We missed him!" he spat as he rounded the corner merely blocks away from their destination._

_He sped up even more, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of the dealer as he left his last customer's house on his way out to Germany. The given address turned out to be completely isolated, no sign of any car coming or going._

_"Fuck!" he cursed as he smacked the steering wheel._

_Irinblaine swallowed hard before he found the voice to speak. "If you have your laptop I can see about tracking his car," he offered quietly._

_His boss stared at him dumbfoundedly. "You can track him? Why didn't you say __anything before?"_

_The other tom's expression grew hard and defensive. "I didn't want you getting on my case! And analyst isn't really something of a requirement when you're applying to be in the fucking hit squad!"_

_He was met with two pairs of blinking eyes that stared silently, unsure how to respond before Musalini decided to grab the notebook from the compartment between the two toms in front. "Do your shit, man!"_

_"Alright," he began as the notebook quickly fired up and brought him to the desktop screen. "I need his license plate number."_

_Mistoffelees opened the portfolio and blinked at it hard, looking quite at a loss for a few moments before producing the code, "KHM 0927. But I don't think he has a tracker planted or a GPS."_

_He watched as the dark brown and ginger tom typed away with lightning speed. "We don't need one; remember when the state started planting tracking devices in the car plates? Well, with a little hacking I can see where every registered vehicle is in the country."_

_A car horn honked sharply beside them. They glanced over to find Mungojerrie's Impala pulled up beside them, passenger window down. Carbucketty had his window partially open in the back seat and Kameness sat in the passenger's side looking very annoyed. Reluctantly, Mistoffelees rolled down his window._

_"Where the fuck is he?" he yelled at them, his passenger wincing and looking more annoyed by the second._

_"Calm your shit, Jerrie," Mistoffelees snapped back. "We'll find your butt-buddy in a minute; now let the big toms work this out."_

_With that, he rolled up his window to the sound of the striped tom's enraged response. A small _bling_ came from the seat beside him and the dark brown tom looked up eagerly, turning the screen to the tux. "Found him!"  
><em>_  
>His icy blue eyes scanned the map in front of him with the tiny blinking dot that was their target, they could make it there. They could make it there in less than 3 minutes flat. He honked his horn sharply before speeding off down the silent, suburban street.<em>

_It took them just under 7 minutes to catch up to the silver Honda; it wasn't hard to spot because it looked like an amateur drug dealer's car- a rusted piece of shit. They waited until it turned off onto a dark industrial road before they decided to box the silver car in between the two; Mistoffelees parked his car not too far in front of the now parked vehicle. He could see the driver start to panic in the front seat. The trio got out of their Jaguar and stood their ground menacingly. The black and white tom walked to the rear of the car, standing so that the driver could get a good look at him when he put a bullet through his head._

_Suddenly, the car was thrown into drive and the car lurched forward. Countless rounds of bullets shot after the tires as it sped towards the Jaguar and its __passengers, mainly Mistoffelees who stood in the gap that held his only means of escape. The tux, Browning HP ready in hand, went straight for the windshield._

Pop_ went the front tire, then the others quickly followed suit under the assault of lightening bullets. The bullets shot through the windows, one hitting the driver square in the forehead and literally exploding the insides of his head all over the interior of the vehicle._

_Although the driver had been properly taken care of and the tires were torn to shreds, the car did not skid to a stop as was expected. The rims continued to __propel the silver cannon towards the tux at a dangerous speed. Instinctively, he tried to jump out of the way, but the car was too fast and caught him at the hip, slamming his body against the dented hood and cracked windshield. The car skidded to a stop once it collided with the tail of the extremely pricey Jaguar. The small body rolled over the side of the car and landed on his shoulder with a loud crack._

_Immediately, the five toms ran to his side._

_"Go make sure he's dead!" called Mungojerrie to Carbucketty, his voice a soft murmur in the loud hum in his ears._

Don't send the kit, Jerrie,_ he thought bitterly; the patched and striped tom was far too inexperienced to- the sound of the young tom's violent vomiting interrupted his thoughts. Musalini and Kameness grabbed him from his sprawled position on the ground into a standing slouch. Luckily his body was too numb so he didn't feel anything... yet._

_"Holy Fuck, you alright, man?"_

_The tom in their grasp nodded weakly before vomiting a small amount of blood on the dark, cracked pavement. Someone tapped his cheek lightly, trying to evoke some sort of verbal response._

_Carbucketty returned, green despite his brown fur. "He's dead alright!" he declared with fake enthusiasm._

_After a few minutes, Mistoffelees began to regain his focus; the shock and adrenaline seeping away. His friends slowly walked him to the car where he was able to navigate himself on his own without too much support._

_"My back is killing me! It feels like a- My car!" He stumbled over to the rear of his father's blue luxury car, a very significant dent in the rear body. "For fuck sakes! Son of a bitch might as well have killed me, I'm already dead."_

_Mungojerrie suppressed a laugh; he would surely get an earful from the ginger cat for letting such a piece get so abused._

_Soon they all climbed into their respected cars. This time Kameness drove Mistoffelees' car while he sat drowsily in the passenger seat. "You're gonna feel __that bitch of a fall in the morning," he muttered as he concentrated on the unlit and unpredictable road ahead._

_From the back seat, someone leaned forward to place a comforting pat on his shoulder; he winced at the pain but didn't object to the somewhat encouraging gesture. "At least he got the motherfucker!"_

_They laughed heartily before slumping back behind them. The pained tux couldn't help but give in to the ignorance of sleep as his body gave way to the horrible stabbing in his back and his splitting headache._

_Everything was a jumble of blurred conversations and pills over the next 8 hours before all just melted into a deep, comatose sleep._

Oo oO  
>O<br>Oo oO

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he sorely trudged to the door to his private room. Opening the door, he could hear the deep voices of his comrades chatting excitedly to a softer, feminine voice. He took his sweet time going down the stairs, his back a complete disaster in itself.

Carbucketty met him at the bottom, looking very excited and jumpy as he quickly delivered the good news. "Can you believe it? After 3 weeks, we finally get a lead! I was starting to think your sister was as tricky as you were," he finished with a light punch to the upper arm, forgetting about the previous night's near death experience.

"Mistoffelees!" Mungojerrie called from their card table. "You still alive? ...He is still alive, right?" He heard someone respond in the positive.

"He's right here, dumbass," Carbucketty chortled with a voice that crossed between the imitation of an obese and severely mentally handicapped person.

He turned the corner of the wall that closed off the room from the stairs, seeing the striped tom hold back a retort. "Well you look like shit," he pointed out instead.

"Fuck you," came the weak response to which he got an eye roll and a raised brow; so he wasn't on his A-game today, sue him!

"Can't we all just agree that you both look like shit? 'Cause you do," came a heavy Irish accent that made him cringe. He looked to see an almost all-black queen whose only colourings were honey-gold, thin tiger stripes that wrapped around her sides like an exterior ribcage.

Mistoffelees squinted at her curiously; she seemed familiar but he had forgotten how he knew her. He had far too many enemies and connections to worry about simple acquaintances.

"Who are you?" he asked, his tone rather uninviting and sour when he addressed the confident queen. He had no problem when others had confidence, just when they felt the need to be insolent because of it.

"I'm your sister's friend, Kamikazii," she stated matter-of-factly as though it was no big secret.

His head gave an exasperated throb; any friend of Victoria was a complete and utter bother to him .She always picked the worst queens to befriend, the kind you'd hit with your expensive luxury car and not care about denting in the body because it was worth every nick and scratch. He stared at her expectantly, not really encouraging her to go on but not denouncing her right to speak.

"...And?" Mungojerrie sighed from his place at the table, fresh mouse sitting limply in front of him.

"And I know where she is as we speak," she replied disdainfully. Mistoffelees' head tilted in confused interest; he'd told her to leave! But could this cat be trusted? His mind reeled with plans, back up plans and alternate plans for the backup plans in case they didn't work. There was a doubt in his mind that she really knew where Victoria was; everyone knew that she really had it in for Mungojerrie; it could have been just a reason to get closer to him. Though if it wasn't, he'd have to come up with a plan to warn the white queen.

"...Why-?" he asked suspiciously.

"Never mind why!" Carbucketty piped in. "Let's get moving before we lose her!"

The others agreed and, in a matter of seconds, were filing out the door to the parking garage. Mistoffelees followed slowly behind knowing they couldn't leave without him unless he said otherwise. Kameness and Carbucketty were, once again, fighting over who got to sit in the front seat.

Mistoffelees walked over to his father's car, moaning miserably at the huge dent in the side of his trunk. "I'm so screwed!" he groaned despairingly. "Fuck!"

Musalini looked between the collapse in the car and the badly bruised tom before placing a condoling hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, mate," he mumbled tiredly. "I know a guy in the Slums who fixes cars up nice. You won't even tell it was hit by a crazy-ass shithead."

The younger tom smiled at that; now he didn't have to pay to get it fixed. The 'guy' was probably someone who paid the group to get rid of his competition, which meant that they got all the free perks and benefits of his trade; Cat knows that cars take a brutal beating in this business.

"And think of it this way," Irinblaine chuckled as he lit a cigarette, "If your dad sees it before then, you can say that you threw yourself in front of a car to save it. You got the gash to back it up."

Subconsciously, he reached up to lightly graze the cut above his right eye; it stung fiercely.

"You driving?" Mungojerrie asked when the tux walked to the driver's door.

Mistoffelees paused momentarily, looking around quickly before his eyes widened. "Well, I'm not gonna let her drive," he mock whispered, nodding towards the queen next to him, also intent on getting into the front seat. "She's a queen... and she's Irish! She probably just downed a whole bottle of bourbon while our backs were turned! Fuck that, I'm driving." He yanked the door open and slid inside before closing the door on the black and gold queen's face.

Mistoffelees soon found himself turning a familiar corner onto a bright, well-kept street with flowers hanging from the lampposts. The sun seemed to shine brighter in this part of town, the sky less cloudy. Children laughed happily in a tiny wading pool, some screeching from being splashed. If one word could describe this beautiful, tranquil neighbourhood, it would be ignorant.

He reached over and pulled his glasses from the rearview mirror, _too much God damn light_! They pulled up in front of Victoria's old apartment building; a clean, elegant place, like several others on the street.

"You sure she's here?" Mistoffelees sighed as he turned to the lounging queen who sat with her feet on his polished dashboard.

She turned to him condescendingly. "I told you she was here," she replied rudely. "There's no reason for me to lie to a bunch of toms with guns."

They turned their gazes back to the quiet building. "Alright. Let's go."

They all got out of the car, meeting up with the rest of their posse from the other car before making their way into the conspicuous building, Mistoffelees' stomach gave a swirl of anxiety. They left the irritating queen to wait by the cars, but not without protest.

Unlike most of the apartment buildings in this area, this one in particular did not have a call box or front foyer; it just lead to a staircase lined with doors along the landings. The floor was a mosaic of beautiful marble stone and the stairs were a gloriously sculpted white marble that could have quite easily been the stairway to Heavyside. It was bright and spacious for a simple hallway; beautiful pots of flowers decorated the small areas in front of the residences' door like a small, personal garden. He suppressed the urge to run up and kick all the stupid looking plants that littered the clean corridor.

"This is like... the slums for rich people," Irinblaine noted, obviously noticing the lack of security and privacy for the tenants living in the building.

"I wouldn't give a rat's ass," Carbucketty replied quietly. "It's better than our shithole warehouse."

They all nodded in agreement before starting up the stairs. They reached the third floor quickly and silently: quite a feat for six toms.

'She won't hear us coming,' Mistoffelees thought nervously. He looked to Carbucketty, thinking of a way to get the rambunctious tom to make some sort of loud noise. Not seeing where he was going, Mistoffelees tripped on the next step and sent himself flying up the stairs. He landed with half his body on the third floor hall and the rest to be bruised twice as badly on the sharp, metal rimmed steps.

He let out a loud moan as his head trembled and roared with agony, he immediately regretted living past last night when the already debilitating headache just grew unbearable. As expected, Carbucketty let out a very loud "Whoa!" to which he was angrily smacked upside the head.

The magician could sense the panic behind Victoria's apartment door, he needed to stall. Before he could intervene any more, Irinblaine, Kameness, and Musalini bolted past him and to the apartment. Mungojerrie grabbed him by the scruff and yanked him down the three flights of stairs.

"Let me go you fucking son of a bitch!" he hollered as they reached the second floor, his lower back landing roughly on the cold, hard floor. The striped tom wouldn't ease his grip on the back of his neck.

"You're going to do your little magicky shit and get that white bitch!"

They reached the front door in under a minute; they could hear one of the other toms above, "She went down the fire escape!"

Mungojerrie turned to reply but got a staggering punch in the face. "You ever fucking touch me again I'll shoot your fucking head off!" Mistoffelees raged before pushing past him out the door.

The two toms dashed around the building to Victoria sprinting up the back alley, a bright red bag on her back. Mistoffelees and Mungojerrie drew their guns and took aim. The tux flicked his eyes to the side of the brick alley wall, tossing Victoria around a corner and down another alley.

"Shit!" his partner cursed. Unfortunately, Victoria wasn't as fast a runner as he'd hoped. They easily caught up to her as she struggled to pass the dirty rubbish lining the edge of the narrow pass.

Behind her, Mistoffelees subtly flicked garbage in their general direction, giving Victoria the appearance of knocking it behind her. "Misto, do something, damnit!"

Waving his hands in front of him whimsically, he pretended to summon his magic. The eventual flick of his wrist rolled a large dumpster in her path, stopping her dead in her tracks. She tried to push it back with her tiny, elegant arms. Giving up, she whipped around to face her aggressors, meeting her brother's disappointed stare.

"Looks like you almost got away, Victoria," he said gently. Mungojerrie raised his Grandpower pistol, taking aim at a spot just above the space in between her eyes.

"Please don't do this!" she begged, going down on her knees, only eliciting a response from one of the two gang members. Mungojerrie cocked his gun.

Looking around to make sure no one else was around, Mistoffelees stretched out his hand to lightly tap Mungojerrie's arm. The tall tom's body jerked and his features went stressed before he collapsed to the ground unconscious. The two cats stared at the body for a moment before finally resorting to looking at each other.

Mistoffelees' expression grew fierce and somewhat enraged. "I told you-!"

Victoria burst into tears and buried her face pathetically in her palms. His brow shot up; it had been nearly a lifetime ago since he last saw her cry- when their mother died. That was also the last time he remembered crying out of emotional agony himself, the last time he'd ever been so truly weak.

His ears perked to the sound of distant voices drawing closer. "Victoria," he demanded evenly. "You have to leave, now."

He pushed aside the dumpster with the slightest motion of his hand. Mistoffelees gripped her shoulders roughly and hoisted the queen to her feet, shoving her down the alley.

"This time you need to disappear!" he called after her. She swiftly ran out of the alley and waved over a nearby car that must have been parked on the busy street. She jumped into the passenger's seat and urged the driver forward. A quick glance and he could see the dark, rust colours in the tom's fur mixed with brown, black and white. _That must be Plato_, he thought to himself. He better not try anything.

The beige Sedan quickly sped off down the street, leaving a smoky cloud in its wake. Mistoffelees stood there numbly; he was going to get hell for this. Walking over to the wall, he allowed himself to slide down the brick wall and grate his back painfully against the sandpaper bricks. Soon enough the heavy footfalls of his four-man backup came running down the alley. A look of confusion passed between them when they caught sight of the reviving Mungojerrie and the dazed tux.

Irinblaine took in the scene. "Where's Victoria?" he asked with slight agitation.

Mistoffelees simply shrugged, his face set in deadpan. "Hell if I know."

"Wait," Carbucketty began when the older tom's words sunk in; Mistoffelees took to the chore of shuffling his tired body into a standing position. "You mean you got your asses handed to you by a fucking queen?"

The black and white tom, once fully erect, strode up to the slightly shorter tom to shove his shoulders angrily to the ground. "She wouldn't have gotten away if you hadn't tipped her off!" he screamed down at him.

The brown tom's expression grew grim and uncharacteristically serious. The whole crowd stared silently as the fuming tom stood over him ominously, breathing heavily from a rush of anger, fear, and adrenaline.

They looked to Mungojerrie as he groaned weakly. Musalini reached out to his still affected friend. "Misto... What happened?"

The other tom just shook his head firmly. He watched silently as the tux dug his overgrown, sharp claws into his bruised thigh in an act of self hatred and rage, dreading what was yet to come.

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><p><strong>Whoa! Looks like our Bonafide Badass isn't such an ass : I do feel for his car though :( It's so expensive Xo!**

**Hey, spread the Munku/Misto mafia love! Link your peeps and lets get the party started! Seriously... The numbers are crushing :(**

**Also, stay on the lookout for a oneshot I'll be posting up REAL soon. I just finished writing it out and it's probably my best work YET!**  
><strong> -dance- I'll be posting it up in a Season's contest. I'd love to hear your thoughts and feelings on it :) Anything to improve!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**I'M BACK! And more excited than ever to be posting again! **

**ALL RIGHT! Let's get this show on the road! In this chappy, we get to meet the dashing Munkustrap and his loyal partner in crime Alonzo :D**

**Enjoy!**

**EXTREME-SPECIAL thanks goes out to Delphicoracle-Cat for Beta-ing and talking me through my funk :)**

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><p>The large den was dark and musty, filled with cigarette smoke that only rarely graced its walls and furniture. The clock in the open-concept kitchen ticked loudly as it counted the seconds being wasted for the tom in the other room. On a brown, fabric couch slept a young, striped tom, sitting up in the corner of the sectional that separated the dining room from the living room. His arm rested in his lap, clutching a small stack of papers and photos. He breathed softly, head rolling slightly from the intricate web of dreams floating in his sleeping mind.<p>

The TV hummed lowly as the news displayed the remnants of a recently burned casino surrounded by bright yellow 'crime scene' tape.

"... Police say that there is no concrete evidence as to what had started the fire, but they suspect that it may be another in an ongoing stream of murder cases that have been plaguing the city within the past few months. Anyone with information is asked to come forward to police by reporting to your local station or calling the toll free number. I am Tainsha Roe and you are watching CP85 news."

With a couple last comments from the main news anchors, the station's channel went off air for the night, turning the TV into a blizzard of white and black static.

The tabby continued to sleep on blissfully until a sharp knock at the door jerked him into consciousness. Rubbing his face down with his now cramped hands, he got up to answer the front door. He looked outside to find his friend Plato with a small, snowy queen. He disregarded her terrified stare and addressed the tom.

"What is it, Plato? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

The rusty tom averted his gaze slightly before giving him a small smile. "No."

"Yeah, me neither," he yawned as he looked down at his watch: 3:48. "So why do you _gracing_ me with your presence?"

Plato looked between the two cats before he brought his girlfriend forward, presenting her with a secure arm around her waist. The tabby took notice that the young queen had been wearing a bright red backpack that was obviously one of a designer label.

"This is Victoria. She needs a place to stay-"

"You really should talk to Old Deuteronomy about that, I'm not really the go-to guy for this kind of stuff..."

"Yeah, I know. But she's in a ton of trouble and we can't wait for Old D to come back!" he urged. His voice dropped when the other tom looked around to make sure no one had seen the newcomer or had been woken by the loud voices in the dead of night. "I'd really appreciate it if you could help us out, Munk."

The tabby's face hardened in thought; Plato had been a good friend and he knew he could trust him; he wouldn't knowingly put anyone in real danger. But he still couldn't help but be wary of the queen in his arms; what had she done to get in so much trouble?

"What kind of trouble is she in?" he asked, nodding to the quiet and wide-eyed female. A careful look passed between the two before the tabby was answered.

"She and her father are being chased down by Macavity's crew; they're indebted to him and they couldn't pay him off on time."

The tabby re-inspected her again; she didn't look like the other cats Macavity usually had done over for financial complications, she seemed too well kept and proper. Nevertheless, he knew Plato and he knew that he could trust his better judgement.

"Alright," he nodded finally. Victoria and Plato both seemed to slightly deflate in relief. "But make sure you check in with Deuteronomy when he gets back- and make sure she stays close to you. She'll get torn to shreds if you don't keep a close watch on her."

He tried to sound relatively friendly; he wasn't aiming to intimidate the young girl, but his fatigue had gotten the better of him.

They thanked each other before parting ways, Munkustrap waiting until both cats were out of view before closing the door behind him. A quick glance in the mirror showed a mess of stripes and hours of insomnia. He returned to his place on the couch to go over the papers and pictures he had been studying mere hours before.

The coffee on the side was ice cold and the cigarette he had been chewing on had long been disintegrated. He rearranged the files into their proper folder, each one a suspected case with a separate, blue one on the side for his main suspects. He reached over to pick up his black sharpie to outline the reviewed date on the outside of the manila folder but ended up knocking over his coffee and a few of the pictures.

"Shit!" he cursed as he jumped over the back of the couch to cross the kitchen for the white-and-green striped tea cloth on the stove handle.

He frantically dabbed and wiped off the table; only a few papers were seriously damaged (and are not to be named for confidentiality purposes). He set to collecting the fallen pages and notes that littered his living room floor long before he spilled his bitter drink.

One picture he picked up was that of a young tuxedo tom. He was standing outside a club with a larger, grey tom who was smoking a cigarette. His one hand was tugging slightly on the corner of his popped collar- God, he hated when people did that (though he had to admit that he had the style to pull it off)- towards his slightly open mouth. It looked almost as if he had been posing for the camera when the shot was taken; the playful gleam in his eye only supported this idea as he was silently daring the photographer to come closer for a better frame... and a death sentence.

He hopefully flipped the thick sheet over to read the back. The notes read:

Mistoffelees

Age: 22

Occupation: Hell's Angels member

Weapon upon confrontation: Gun (Class:?)

Relations: Macavity (father), sister? *see picture 4.2B

Height: Approx. 5'3"

Notes:

-Gambler (favourite club is the Toggler)

-Possible dealer?

-Drives red Ford (4-door, car. Model?)

*Short tempered and dangerous

Munkustrap sighed disappointedly; this card had the exact same information he read earlier that evening. He read it over for some other clues or hints about the tuxedo tom. He was a rather short cat with a rather stereotypical gangster life; his profile read dangerous, as all the others had; nothing notable on this one in particular save for his relations.

He would imagine that getting this tom's cooperation, despite being extremely unlikely, would probably be the break he'd need to finally get to that sad excuse of a cat he called 'father'. That, or he could do some more research on this potential sister. Both ideas seemed pretty farfetched and began to make less and less sense the more his head drooped.

He got up from his crouch; it was about time he turned in for bed. He tossed his work on the kitchen table as he dragged himself down the hallway to his bedroom, passing a brightly painted room that only reminded him of what he'd lost in the sad scheme that was his life. He closed the door and moved on to his room.

He stood in the doorway uncomfortably. He swayed from exhaustion but he couldn't bring himself to lie down on the ominous bed; he eventually settled the whole conflict by grabbing his pillow and blanket, and dragging it back to the living room. He plopped himself and his sleeping gear on the sofa, nearly falling asleep the minute he landed. _Maybe another day_, he thought before he drifted back to sleep.

The clock ticked loudly in the kitchen, counting down the days until he had officially wasted his life.

Oo oO  
>o<br>Oo oO

The sun shone lightly down on his sleeping features, not managing to reach him enough to wake him up. He, once again, woke up to the sound of knocking on his den door.

"Yeah!" he greeted lazily, not bothering to move from his blissfully drowsy state; from the sound of the knock, it was probably Alonzo, his partner/apprentice in crime.

"Hey, Munk, why you late? We were supposed to have practice an hour ago," he inquired as he strode into the living room, stopping at the sight of his still half-asleep friend on the couch. "You still bunking on this thing?" he asked rhetorically. "We're going to have to get you an orthopaedic couch or something-better yet, let's get you a new bed!"

Munkustrap smiled, slightly amused by the younger tom's bright, joking personality. He liked that they didn't have to be so professional and boring; they'd probably end up hating each other. "Well... you know me, I can't handle the truth."

Alonzo smirked. "Which is why you haven't yet admitted how awesome and talented I am," he jested lightly before he helped himself to the kitchen and the coffee maker. "Oh, and I got a letter for you. It was from Kreyt-tsion... or something like that."

Munkustrap sat up at the name, looking over to the envelope on the kitchen table behind the white and black patched tom, who busied himself in making their coffee.

Now fully awake and more than a little excited, the tabby launched himself over the back of his makeshift bed and eagerly ran over to the table. He practically tore the envelope to shreds with painful anticipation; it took him everything to not scream at the damned inventor of insulated, concrete thick mailing packages.

"What's that?" Alonzo asked over his shoulder.

Ignoring him, Munkustrap flipped through the pages. A huge grin reached from ear to ear. "This is it, Lonz!" he gasped as he read the 12-point font that made up the name of a road and an address, all with a lovely picture to put the cherry on the free, guiltless sundae.

"What's what-?"

"This is the place!" He gasped, a giddy, wide grin revealing unbrushed teeth. "I've been looking for these ass-wipes for months now... and here they are."

Alonzo looked at the black and white picture of an old, abandoned building; nothing special except for the hobo peeing on the front wall. "...What are you gonna do? You can't go after them."

Immediately his face fell serious, his good mood now brought to a more sensible and authoritative mindset. "There's nothing stopping me. Besides, none of them recognize me, so I can say that I'm a customer," the tabby shrugged.

Alonzo watched him silently for a few moments before opening his mouth to speak. "Why do you want them so bad? You have everything you could possible need here; a great job-"

"One that doesn't pay," interrupted Munkustrap.

"A nice den-"

The silver ton scoffed, motioning to the multi-purpose living room."That's far too big for me."

"A ton of friends-" Alonzo added pointedly.

"Who only stick around because I'm the only thing standing between them and a pollicle's gullet."

"...Well, I don't."

Munkustrap looked up from his pages to look his younger apprentice dead in the eye. "I know, and I appreciate that," he smiled genuinely.

Alonzo returned the favour before continuing. "So why do you want these low-lives so bad?"

"Because they know where Macavity is; take the bullet out of the gun and no one gets shot," he explained simply. A small chime rung softly as the coffee maker announced the end of its filtering cycle.

"But really," Alonzo began, snatching the steaming pot from it's hot-plate. "They're the ones committing the murders. Shouldn't you focus on getting rid of them first before you go after Macavity?"

The white and black tom handed the tabby a mug of black coffee, placing his own on the overcrowded table and picking up a picture of a rather young-looking brown and white tom, stripes and splotches covering his body; the back read 'Carbucketty'.

"Well no," he began before taking a sip of the scalding beverage. "Macavity can just refill the ranks the minute they turn up dead, that's why his front line is so small; he doesn't want to risk all of his men being killed at once. What I'm going to do is stoke out their members and hopefully I can catch a very weak-willed geek and get some information."

"They don't really look like the type to be directly linked to Macavity," noted Alonzo quietly when he noticed how all the toms in the group were surprisingly well-groomed, young, and relatively untouched by the hardships of life under Macavity's employment. Once again, his question was ignored and he found himself being shown the picture of another hit-tom.

He took the picture and inspected it carefully. The tom in the picture was not what he expected to come from these files; a small, slim tom stared at him through the glossy colour, lips slightly parted. The bright blue eyes and the slightly vulnerable pose he held himself in gave the look of an innocent tom-kit. An intimidating glaze that accentuated his almost alluring stare was the only thing reminding him that this was a picture of a cold-blooded killer.

"This is Macavity's son, Mistoffelees," Munkustrap pointed at the shorter of the two cats; Alonzo hadn't realized there were two.

"Well, he sure doesn't take after his dad..."

"He runs his father's hit squad. I'm hoping to be able to get him alone and maybe get some info on Macavity's whereabouts."

Alonzo spluttered and laughed despite his hot coffee. "Yeah, good luck with that!"

"You don't think I can do it?" the tabby blinked.

"No," came the blunt response. "He's obviously in charge for some reason, and I don't think it was for his incredibly gifted height and super muscular build... plus he doesn't seem to be the kind to talk."

"Assuming that he's loyal to his father. Toms like Macavity have tons of competitors; sons are almost always the ones who end up throwing them under the bus to inherit the family's trillion dollar business."

Alonzo looked again to the picture in his hand. "The short guys are never alone, Munk. You should aim a little lower if you want to get anywhere." He got a silent chuckle in response. "So when you going?"

Eyeing the manilla folder thoughtfully, he knew he couldn't deny himself his opportunity any longer than he had already. Not every tom just stumbled across such a prize everyday! "I'm going to check it out tonight. I'm going to need you to-"

"I can keep watch tonight," he nodded, not needing to be asked once.

The tabby smiled a big, toothy grin. "See? You're moving up, oh-so-very-talented."

Rolling his eyes, Alonzo took another big gulp of his cooling coffee. "Yeah, I know."


	5. Chapter 5

**I'M BAAAACK! And I brought a bit of Misto angst with me... Some sexy (if you're into that stuff), slashy angst!**

**Sad story, I was actually working on this on the FFN Doc Manager and BAM! My browser crashed -twitch- **  
><strong>I was going to go back over it with a fine tooth comb again buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut no. So I'm really sorry if there's something messed up somewhere xP <strong>

**Thanks goes to NyokaDelFanfiction for lending me her OCs**  
><strong>And big thanks to Delphicoracle-Cat for beta-reading :) <strong>

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><p>The ride home had been a little more than awkward for the usually bold tom. Fuck, why did he have to let her go! He warned her she'd get killed; why'd that stupid bitch have to come back? Kameness, Mistoffelees' secondary driver, dropped off the rest of their cargo and drove him to his father's lair... someone had to explain how she'd gotten away.<p>

"Sorry, boss," the smoky grey Burmese apologized with a slight sadness in his voice.

"It's alright, Kam, it's not your fault," he replied, looking out the window at the old buildings that lead up to his father's headquarters. "You might want to park the car a bit down the street, he'll beat both our asses if he sees the dent."

The other tom simply nodded as he pulled the car over to let the tux out a block from their destination.

Mistoffelees stared out the window shield ominously. "You can drive back to the warehouse," he stated flatly. "I'm going to be a while."

With that, Mistoffelees stepped out of his car onto the curb. He was not looking forward to facing the ginger cat, but he couldn't be a pussy about it. He started forward at an even pace, his confidence fluctuating as the gap between him and the violent magic cat dwindled.

Once inside, he was led to the back room where his father's office currently resided. The corridor was a tunnel of rich reds and medieval memorabilia. Swords lined the wall and armour stood at attention every few metres, keeping the henchcats in line.

The henchcat beside him hesitated as he walked beside his employer's son, unsure whether he was to grip him by the elbow as he would a prisoner or lead him as a cherished guest. The tux sensed his uncertainty, frowning in disgust at the scraggly tom.

"Touch me, and you'll be wishing you never crawled out of that pathetic hole you call a mother."

The other tom retracted his hand, shuffling slightly to the side. If Mistoffelees was anything like his father then he should steer clear.

"That's...yeah," he muttered before scurrying away. _This is fucking pathetic_, he though to himself bitterly, _how does he manage a day without butchering them all?_ So far, he would have killed at least 15 cats, and he hadn't been there more than ten minutes.

He took a long, deep breath before knocking softly on the large mahogany door.

"Come in," came the sharp reply. The young tom suddenly felt out of breath and panicked, but it was too late to turn back now. The door opened slowly and painfully loud as if to announce his arrival.

The room was dark and rich; Musky scents from the expensive leathers made the office feel like a mansion-styled den. All around the room hung ominous pictures and paintings of old leaders before them, infamous agents, and memorable partners. The one that stood out above the rest was a magnificent oil painting of none other than the Napoleon of crime himself hung overlooking the room from behind the oak desk.

The creature in the painting was a well composed explosion of spiky, fiery ginger fur. The hideous, overgrown nails accentuated his character cleverly, but no feature could say more about the mystery cat than the bright yellow eyes. But, no matter how accurate, they could never relate the true madness and mastermind behind the handsomely ugly tom.

Looking up from his pile of documents and folders, Macavity briefly eyed the hallway behind the tux before addressing the tom. "Hello, Mistoffelees," he smiled.

"Hello, father," he swallowed the lump in his throat, pressing his handheld against his frame knowing the comforting presence of the Browning would give him confidence.

"It seems as though we have a problem."

The tux looked up suddenly, eyes widened a fraction. The ginger tom's expression was more or less friendly and inviting but anyone could tell there was a raging storm building deep down. He got up from his office chair to cross the dark room to the small lounge set up near the fireplace.

He motioned his son to follow and take a seat on the smooth sofa. Reluctantly, the tux complied, taking his seat in the middle of the black leather couch. Macavity stood by the fire, watching it with as much overwhelming interest as his son regularly displayed.

"Why?" he asked softly. "You were going places, Mistoffelees. Why'd you have to go and blow it for some useless queen?" He rammed his tight fist into the mantle top; if Mistoffelees was ignorant to his father's strength, the large crack left behind in the marble would have surprised him.

"You don't understand, I-"

"Just stop!" he screamed, the fury building inside began to seep out, making his fur a brighter shade of red. "I taught you everything you know. You could have been at the top in a matter of years!" he stopped to pace around the lounge his son was occupying.

"I thought I could trust you with a simple task. For fuck's sake, the casino manager was a harder case! But, her? No! She's so predictable; you could have killed her in your sleep! So why-Why, when your career is soaring straight to the top, do you decide to screw it over for yourself? Tell me." He stopped to where he stood directly behind the black tom, both facing the angry fire.

He brought his hands to rest firmly on both shoulders of the silent tux, not liking the blank expression on his fair face. He began to press his hands painfully down into his shoulders, evoking a wince and an eventual hiss when all his injuries began screaming at him in pure, anguishing rage.

"I wasn't at my fullest today," he began through clenched teeth. "She got the better of me, I couldn't pursue her any more-"

"Don't try to bullshit me!" roared the Napoleon of crime. "I know exactly what happened! You pussied out, you're a fucking weak little piece of shit. I hope you're proud."

His hands eased up on his shoulders to gently pull off his jacket. Mistoffelees frowned in distaste when the prickly furred hands returned to remove his gun and holster before heavily running his hands over his bruised front, faltering at the waist.

Macavity's mouth rested heavily next to his ear, breathing menacingly in his ear. "I know what you did to Mungojerrie. How you knocked him out to save your little sister. It's a noble act, really, but you need to remember where your loyalty lies, son. It could just as easily be your file I drop tomorrow, remember that.

In this business; blood and water are both one and the same."

He slowly straightened up, rounding the couch in a matter of seconds and sitting himself close to the little tuxedo. By the gleam in his eye and the heavy, strained breathing, he could tell that Macavity had it bad. He wouldn't be leaving here unscathed, to say the least. He looked away when a light hand began to caress his thigh.

"Is that what makes this so easy?" he muttered bitterly.

The older tom chuckled lightly, his mouth hungrily attacking his white furred neck and gently nibbling at the soft grooves beneath his jaw. "No," he whispered airily. "But it doesn't make it any harder."

Mistoffelees rolled his eyes in contempt. O_f course it doesn't_.

His breath hitched when the hand on his thigh turned inward and began creeping its way up his leg, his mind immediately went to the track marks he'd left a few days prior in a weed induced crack binge when his dealer announced the birth of his first kitten. He hadn't bothered listening to the doting father brag about the intricate designs on his new baby girl; he just wanted his fix. Lucky for him it was all half off.

Oh how he wished he could be high out of his mind now.

His back arched at the pleasure that tingled throughout his body, his stomach churning in disgust. It was all he had not to shove the ginger tom off of him; he really hated visiting his father. He allowed himself to be pushed down into a lying position, turning his head to watch the crackling fire. He remembered why he loved it so much: he always imagined his father screaming and burning to death in its magical prison of reds and yellows. A mouth trailed up his fluffy white chest.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Macavity slumped angrily against Mistoffelees' still body. This had better be good. Immediately after he left the couch, the tiny tux shot up and prepared to leave, flattening his fur as he reached for his jacket. Peering over the edge of the couch, he spotted the discarded gun and quickly snatched it up to hide in the secret compartments of his jacket. The two toms at the door discussed quietly on matters that did not concern him in the least. Macavity eventually turned from the henchcat to address him.

"I hate to cut our conversation short," he winked. "But I have some business to attend to."

Trying to collect the dignity he had left safely at the door, Mistoffelees picked himself up and walked to the exit with hollow confidence, grazing the ginger cat slightly as he passed.

"Oh, and Mistoffelees…"

The tux in question turned to face the two he'd left behind, the henchcat obviously unaware of what had been going on the past few minutes.

"Don't bother going back to the warehouse. I'm giving you a few days off to nurse that horrible concussion."

He stared silently a moment before nodding his apprehension: he was being frozen out until they decided what to do with him.

He quickly dissipated from the building, not wanting to be here any longer than he had to be.

He ended up a few blocks down the road. _Out of sight, out of mind,_ he thought desperately to himself. His body, however, handled their little 'conversations' differently. Mistoffelees soon found himself kneeling on the curb, throwing up all that he had eaten since the day before: a can of root beer and some sort of animal Musalini must have forced down his throat some time before.

Sitting with his back against a rusty, chain-linked fence, he wondered where he was going to go. He had no car and he had no money. It was all in his wallet... in his other jacket. Flicking his wrist produced the fine, cherry Blackberry. He flipped through the contacts until the icon rested on his best friend's entry._ Might as well give it a shot,_ he thought before activating the call.

The call went through unanswered; the entire group must have been screening his calls. He sighed exhaustedly, tossing his already throbbing head back against the dirty metal._ I could always go home... across town._ This was not his day.

Just then, his cell phone, still clutched in his hand, started beeping and humming softly; caller ID said it was Musalini. "You screening me?" he demanded into the phone.

The other tom sighed quietly a moment before continuing. "I don't want to, but we've got the orders. How you holding up?"

"I'm not doing so great- fuck, who am I kidding? I'm sitting up in scuzz town with a splitting migraine and no ride... How's my case holding up over there?"

"Not so great. Fuck-tard's after something."

"No surprise there, that prick's so power hungry and blind that he accidentally shoved his head up his own ass." His ears perked up to the sound of someone's approach; he twitched to the right to find a homeless cat coming up the sidewalk. "I need a ride."

"I can't pick you up... but I'll send a cab over to take you home," he replied apologetically.

_Fucking great!_ He thought to himself angrily before looking back at the homeless cat still creeping up the unkept sidewalk. "What about my car and my wallet? I ain't leaving my shit there to be fucked around with-"

"Hey, can you spare some change?"

Mistoffelees jumped when the scraggly looking cat appeared in front of him. "No. What do I look like to you, some fucking coin dispenser?"

The older cat stared blankly for a few moments, seriously considering mugging him; the disadvantage of being so small. Still trying to decide how to handle the young tux, the bigger tom lurched forward.

"Stay the fuck away from me!" Mistoffelees snapped as he pulled out his Browning and dug it into his stomach threateningly. The rag-covered tom threw his hands up helplessly, immediately dropping the idea of trying to steal from him. The tux jerked his head to the side indicating for him to go. He complied and was soon on his way again.

"The people are fucking pathetic here!" he muttered into the outgoing end of his phone as he slumped back against the chain-link fence.

Musalini laughed on the other end. He could hear Mungojerrie in the background asking him who he was talking to; he could also hear Rumpleteazer chatting away angrily about something but chose to tune her out.

"I feel your pain, trust me," he mumbled. "I'll send a cab to pick you up, I'll give you some cash until they deicide what to do with your sorry ass," he chuckled heartily.

Mistoffelees couldn't help but crack a wry smile. "Thanks, man. You're a lifesaver, I owe ya one."

"You owe me quite a few now, your tab's runnin' up!" With that, he hung up.

It took less than 15 minutes for the unmarked cab to pick him up. He got up tiredly and practically threw himself in the backseat, giving the driver his address before settling down for a quick nap, it would take them at least half an hour anyway.

He woke up to the cabby driver, a dirty blond shorthair, nudging him awake from the front seat. "Thought you died for a minute," he grinned nervously, obviously not wanting to aggravate his passenger.

"Unfortunately not," he mumbled in response, though the driver might not have caught it.

"Your friend told me to give you this." He fumbled with his wallet briefly before pulling out a small wad of money, it looked rather thin. "500 dollars, cash."

He gratefully took the money, thanked the cab driver again, and stumbled out of the car. He was in so much pain and he was so unbelievably tired that he nearly gave the driver the 500 just so he could sleep in the cab, but there was better waiting for him at home... like Tylenol 3s and Advil.

He walked up the short driveway, dragging himself up the steps to the front door that was set to unlock with a code rather than a key. 0284. The mechanism clicked in the door; he was finally home.

Oo oO  
>o<br>Oo oO

"I say he shouldn't even be in this group!" Mungojerrie nodded, loving how he had the group's full and undivided attention. "If he were really cut out for the job, then he would have killed her when he had the chance! But what did he do? He let her go, and he knocked me out. Does that seem like a faithful partner to you? Would you want him to cover your ass when Southside comes to shoot us up?"

Carbucketty gave his head a sharp shake while Kameness, Irinblaine, and Musalini sat still, letting him present his case before taking sides.

Musalini cleared his throat first when the striped tom looked to the group for a response. "Just because he didn't want to be the one to kill his sister, it doesn't mean he don't got my back. Besides, he's just as qualified as we are to be here, why else would Macavity put him in charge?"

"The guy's his fucking dad! Of course daddy dearest will put his little shit of a son in charge. What about Macavity, do you think he would hesitate if he had to kill his kits? Obviously not, if he put a hit on his little girl."

A large, devilish smile spread across his lips. He could see that their minds were hard at work, the concentration clearly visible on their faces with their knitted brows and hard stares. Mungojerrie knew that they were all mostly Mistoffelees' friends, but he also knew that he was right.

"I dunno, man," it was Kameness who spoke up this time. Of all the toms he seemed to be thinking about this the hardest; he, after Musalini, had known the tom the longest- hell he was there when he first became a tom. Of all the breaks he'd gotten from Mistoffelees and the shit they've been through together, it would be a very hard for him to torch their friendship like that. "It was his sister; we all know how close they were. I know if it were my sis or little bro up there I wouldn't let any of you bastards kill 'em."

Despite their tendency to destroy and slaughter mercilessly, they all had hearts- sure some more than others- and the friendships they made were very important. It always felt nice to know someone had your back when the world was out to get you; it made you feel less of a monster.

Somehwere in the room, a large, metal door slammed shut, announcing the must unwanted entrance of the calico's highly energetic and mischievous twin, Rumpleteazer.

Nodding to her littermate sharply, she took a seat next to Carbucketty, a long unrequited crush of hers whom she had been flirting with for a while. Unbeknownst to the ignorant patched and striped tom. She gave him a wickedly playful grin before returning her attention back to the speaker.

Mungojerrie frowned in distaste and slight disappointment. "It doesn't fucking matter! Killing your family is a part of the job, we took that chance when we signed up for this gig," he stormed.

Rumpleteazer nodded in agreement. "We had to kill our Pa for this job," she admitted with a twinge of regret.

"We can't have weaknesses in this business and we can't have weakness lead us or we'll all go soft and die off. Mistoffelees is weak, you all saw it! I'm not weak-"

"Oh stop bullshitting us, 'Jerrie," interrupted Irinblaine. "You say things but when it comes down to it you're just like him. I'm sure you couldn't kill your sister; she obviously means more to you than your dad. Let's just face the fact that we all have a soft spot for family, we can't all be cold-blooded killers..."

Mungojerrie saw the agreement in the other's eyes. _No_, the thought angrily, _I'm not losing this, I'm not giving this up!_

He spun back to his sister who leaned tiredly against Carbucketty's shoulder, her head nodding heavily as she began to fall asleep. He whipped out his black polished gun and fired two rounds into her chest.

The toms all stopped suddenly to look at the startled queen in shock as she fell back and began to bleed to death on the concrete floor.

"What the fuck, Jerrie!" Carbucketty snapped, astounded by the sudden and completely random act of sororicide. Once the queen had gone still with the end of her last breath, they all turned to him slowly for explanation.

"I have no weaknesses," he restated flatly, the life and felinity gone from his voice. "I have no baggage holding me back."


	6. Chapter 6

**Alrighty! I have the next cuss-filled chapter ready for your reading pleasure ;P Unfortunately, they don't meet in this chapter; I needed to 'embellish' Munkustrap's love life a little ;) Poor guy's gonna die ALONE if he keeps this up.**

**NOTE TO ALL JEMIMA FANS: Jemima's black and white, I know, sorry about the brown. I wrote this like over 6 months ago and I never really took the time to acutally LOOK at her :P So my apologies.**

**On with the show! -theme music-**

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><p>Munkustrap and Alonzo sat atop the tire at the head of the social circle; the clearing before them was a picture of peace and tranquility in the abysmal bliss of simple everyday life. Cats chatted happily and kittens rolled around carelessly in the light of the early afternoon sun. Munkustrap frowned; there was absolutely nothing to do. He gave a great yawn before deciding to take a small nap on the heated, black rubber.<p>

"You know you can go hang out with your friends, there's no point stayi-" before he could finish though, the spotted white and black tom had launched himself from the tire to go seek out his lounging girlfriend who lay motionless on a stack of plywood across the clearing.

"Yeah, Kaythanks!" Alonzo called over his shoulder, waving graciously.

Munkustrap sighed as he lay his head on his arms. Not that he would say anything to anyone, but he wished that there was at least an angry pollicle around for him to sink his teeth into. Not that he wanted to risk his friends and family, but he just found the idea of a fight more exciting than watching the old queens sew and talk about which kitten had caught the latest rash that had been circling the close pack.

His attention was averted when a bout of squealing introduced the entrance of the great Rum Tum Tugger, glorious mane, rhinestone studded belt, spiked collar and all. The tabby groaned internally, rolling his teal shaded eyes from behind their lids.

"Munkus," someone snapped from below. He slowly opened his eye to see a less-than-impressed queen glaring back at him from the bottom of the tire. For a split second he seriously contemplated ignoring her, closing his open, not to mention tired, eye to return to getting his much-needed sleep.

"What is it, Demeter?" he sighed, his "full" attention now on the simmering queen.

"It's Tugger," she barked simply. "He's after the kittens again! I'm not going to sit here and watch while he shoves his nether regions in my daughter's face!"

The Jellicle Protector just blinked at her vacantly; he really had no patience for her, not today. "And you're telling me this because..."

She crossed her arms defiantly across her chest; so he was going to be cheeky? She could play push and pull too. "He's your brother! You better do something about him before I seek out Old Deuteronomy. I'm sure he'd be more than pleased to hear about his pedophile son and his supposedly noble brother."

It took all he could in resisting the urge to stand up and walk away; it would be very juvenile and she would more than likely follow him, but it was better than having her bark orders at him while he lay there and took it.

"Demeter, we've already been over this," he stated, irritation seeping through his usually calm and unfaltering mien. "It's just Tugger's way. You and I both know that there's no way in Hell he's going to touch any of them. He doesn't want a lawsuit anymore than we want a kitten getting pedoed." Wrong choice of words, but the message was still there.

"That's not the point!" she practically yelled. Jennyanydots and Jellylorum turned from their sewing and gossiping to gaze at them curiously. Munkustrap gave them an exasperated look to which they giggled, shrugged, and turned back to their planned activity. "He's corrupting the kittens! What are you going to do when they get curious and start experimenting? I'm not going to be the one to chase down a whole wild pack of bastard children because your nymphomaniac brother can't keep it in his pants!"

"Aww, come on now, Dem."

She jumped suddenly when the nymphomaniac himself appeared unannounced behind her along with his fanclub of kittens.

"No need to talk about me behind my back..." he leaned in and lowered his voice so that only the two adult cats could hear. "Especially when the kittens are around, if you know what I'm sayin. They don't need to learn about that kinda stuff just yet."

He gave the two a knowing wink before he straightened himself to full height.

Demeter, by now, had turned an unflattering shade of red at the realization that the kittens, including her quiet Jemima, had more than likely overheard her rant.

The whole crew of kittens blinked quietly, still unsure of what to do or how to react to the situation. Munkustrap cleared his throat with an almost nervous tone at the now undeniable tension.

"Maybe the kittens should go and play with Admetus," he offered. He could hear the tom voice his disapproval from the stove to their right with a loud 'Hey!', not helping his case any when the furry mob turned and stampeded over to his hideout.

"You really need to learn some Goddamn self-control-" Demeter hissed quietly at the golden flirt.

"You really need to stop being so anal retentive," Tugger shot back smoothly, his voice suave and cool as though he had just made a flirtatious joke. The queen just glared as a deep growl rumbled in her chest.

"Both of you need to shut the fuck up or get the hell away from me!" Munkustrap snapped. They both resorted to staring each other down in severe silence; not exactly the effect he was going for. Tugger, surprisingly, was first to pull away.

A large, satisfied smirk spread across his fair face. "Why don't you go find your new tom, you look pretty tense-"

"Screw off, Tugger!" Munkustrap spat, getting up to either strike the coon or shove him out of the way of a Demeter attack. As expected, the queen lashed out and gave him a hard slap across the face. The tabby, despite his earlier intention to save him from the malicious feline, could not find it in himself to intervene and actually had more or less of a glint of respect for her at the moment. He couldn't hit Tugger without starting a row but she could, the Tugger was no fool when it came to chivalry and male-female battle grounds; his philosophy was to get them in bed and then blackmail them with the shame.

Tugger recovered easily from the shorter cat's blow though his skin was immediately left with a pinkish tint. In the background, Etcetera gasped in angry shock, ready to go after her idol's vicious abuser. As Demeter walked away, the faint mutter of 'asshole' fluttered in the air before them before it sizzled away in their apathy.

Munkustrap stared blankly at the coon as he rubbed his cheek sorely. "That bitch!" he exclaimed to the tabby, almost giving him a 'what are you going to do about this?' expression.

The other tom just shrugged, "You had it coming. It was either her or me."

He simply nodded, re-adjusted himself, and took a seat next to his older brother on the tyre.

Even in rest, the famous flirt had a reputation to keep; he stretched his long legs out at full length, crossing at the ankles, and sat back into the support of his elbows. The silver tom was beyond used to his extremely vain and stupid sex-appeal hungry ways. They sat in a not-quite-awkward-but-uncomfortable silence, neither in the mood for simple small talk.

"Why do you still let her whip you?" Tugger asked suddenly, watching the golden queen in question as she spoke to Bombalurina.

"I do not!" The silver tabby protested, a little too defensively.

The golden tom grinned as he snapped his wrist and make whipping sounds. "You, my dear female-fearing brother, are pussy whipped." He broke out in a bout of guffawing, meowing and whipping his invisible switch.

Munkustrap frowned in distaste and severe aggravation. "That's bullshit-"

"Then why is she always pushin' you around? If I bitched at you half as much as she does I'd have been skinned by now."

"Because, whether I like it or not, I have to make sure nothing happens to her. It comes with the job- though you wouldn't understand." He turned his head sharply at the sound of Admetus crying out for help from beneath a mound of psychotic kittens.

"Well, you're doing a shitty job; I nearly got killed!"

"Well, there's nothing I can do about that _now_."

"But seriously. You guys still going at it or what? Once she stops putting out you don't have to be her bitch anymore." He gracefully stretched out his body, his back cracking loudly, before rolling over onto his side facing the secretly uncomfortable tabby.

"We're not 'going at it'. I just don't want to start something with her right now: I have enough issues as it is. Plus Jemima doesn't need anymore drama from her mother, and the tribe doesn't need anyone airing out the dirty laundry, if you get what I'm saying."

_That bitch is just lucky it's not me_, he thought angrily before reminding himself that the past is past and personal issues, no matter how enraging, are to be checked at the door... until his shift is over.

Tugger stared blankly up at him, his features slightly incredulous and poised to mock. He simply shrugged and rolled over onto his back. "You need to grow a pair. You, Demeter, and I all know that you have the real nasty shit. Don't be scared of someone with a knife when you have a gun."

Munkustrap just smirked down at his younger brother; sometimes he just wished that he could be the carefree one who got to fuck around with people's lives. But, unlike the Tugger, he was the responsible one; no demons of his are allowed to see the light of day. Cat help the junkyard if they ever did. "I'm just biding my time," he sighed exasperatedly.

"Well, I'm not so patient," he replied, sitting up to zero in on the scarlet queen that continued to talk quietly with Demeter, nothing on his mind but some instant gratification. "I don't like no bitch talking shit about my brother... either you do something about it or I will."

With that, he hoisted himself up and glided off the stage, leaving Munkustrap to consider the offer. If anyone could ruin a cat's reputation, it's Tugger.

Small beeping suddenly disrupted the tom's concentration. He checked his watch: 3:00.

"Time to haul ass," he whispered to himself. His veins buzzed with anticipation; he'd been waiting for an opportunity like this forever now. What made it perfect was that he wasn't tired or sore from a long day's work, everything was going perfectly for him today... save for being bored out of his face.

He stood up and casually stalked over to Alonzo and Cassandra who sat close, swapping spit and heavily running their hands along each other's bodies. It frustrated Munkustrap to no ends to think that a 19-year old was getting more action than he was, but sometimes life was a bitch that left certain cats to watch their youth waste away in order for others to selfishly flaunt theirs. So now not only was he getting older, but he was ruining his chances of having knees in his old age- Oh, and he was alone.

He cleared his throat when his apprentice had failed to notice his presence. He pulled away apologetically, the gentleman that he was, and turned to the older tom expectantly while his queen blushed a hot shade of pink.

"I'm leaving now," he stated simply.

"You want me to come with? I don't think you should go out there alone..."

"I'll be fine, Lonz. Besides, I need you to stay and watch the yard," he smiled. He could see the excitement in the patched tom's hazel eyes at the realization that he was being left in charge... complete charge. Munkustrap only hoped that he wouldn't regret his decision when he came back. "Just make sure Demeter and Tugger don't try to kill each other. If they do, just tell them to stop then let whoever wins win."

Alonzo nodded eagerly, his claws grating at the plywood in barely controlled joy.

"Well, take care," Munkustrap nodded to the two before turning to leave the clearing towards his den.

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><p>He swung the heavy door open, not bothering to close it behind him as he tore through the flat. From the closet he grabbed a black and silver backpack holding his disassembled shotgun as well as several casings and bullets. He stalked over to the kitchen table to collect the still sprawled pictures and papers as well as his cell phone and keys. Finally having everything he needed, he gave one last swooping glance of the room before heading for the door, stopping mid-stride when he noticed the open window beside the TV.<p>

As he rounded the couch, his foot landed on something hard, pointy, and painfully not hollow. He cursed out in pain as he grabbed the sofa for support, checking his throbbing foot for damage. He looked to the culprit to find it was Jemima's block set that she had left lying about on her last weekend there... "Shit!" he groaned.

He reached over, slammed the window shut, and quickly left his den to go find the young queen's mother. As predicted, she was in her and Victor's apartment-styled den. Jemima was at the table eating when he stepped through the open door.

"Daddy!" she shrieked happily as she torpedoed towards him, knocking over her chair in her excitement. Munkustrap couldn't help but crack a smile at the little queen, he also couldn't help the small pang in his heart when she muffled 'Hi, daddy' into his shoulder as he hoisted her up and hugged her close.

"Hey, sweetie," he purred as he nuzzled her head softly. "How are you, dear?"

"I'm OK. Guess what I made today..."

Munkustrap put her down to kneel intently in front of her. "Show me what you made."

She suddenly jerked around and sped off to her room to go find her wondrous work of art among the thousands of other masterpieces that littered her room. As she ran by, Munkustrap noticed the golden queen standing in the shadows.

"What do you want?" she muttered angrily, obviously not in the mood to talk to him... as if she ever was. If she grew bitter from their conversation not an hour ago, he wouldn't know. Now her rage had simmered, or morphed, he wasn't sure, to a low, dangerous almost-sneer. Albeit he did nothing wrong except maybe poke the sleeping bear that was her unleashed rage, but nothing to deserve what was coming to him.

"I came by to tell you that I can't pick her up tonight," he informed her flatly.

"Yeah... about that..." She took a moment to close the kitten's door quietly, knowing that what she had to say was going to evoke more or less of a row between the two. She stalked over to stand in front of the tabby. "I don't want Jemima spending any more weekends at your place," she mumbled softly.

He blinked at her momentarily before it actually set in: she was taking his daughter away.

"What? Why the fuck not?" he whispered harshly, also intent on keeping the queen in question out of harm's way. "I'm her father, for Christ-sake! You can't do this-!"

"You're not even her father, Munkustrap-" she spat angrily, the words felt like a baseball bat beating in his chest.

"Then where is he, Demeter?" he laughed, swinging his arms out and looking around expectantly, smiling when the mystery tom was nowhere in sight. Oh surprise. "Where the fuck is Jemima's fantastic father that has been taking care of her for the past six years? Oh yeah, that's right, it's me! Not fucking Victor or whoever: me! So what the hell gives you the right to keep her from me?"

"It's been three months, Munk, we all need to move on," she shook her head exasperatedly, treating the tabby as if he were a tyrannical child. "Besides, when do you ever spend time with her? You're always working or off doing whatever the hell keeps you so busy-"

"I make sure nothing happens to you!" he screamed. "I make the junkyard safe for us! I keep her from being kitnapped, or raped, or murdered even; and I make sure nothing happens to your sorry ass either!"

Demeter turned a lovely shade of violet as she tried to hold back her rage. She decided that, for Jemima's sake, some things were better left unsaid. Luckily she decided so because the young red and brown kit came creeping into the room slowly, her picture clutched tightly in her hands. The two adults froze, their expressions resembling that of a deer caught in the headlights.

Tears welled up in her pretty brown eyes as her lip began to quiver with slight fear and uncertainty. "What's wrong?"

Munkustrap immediately saw the hurt in his little girl's eyes and clamped up, he just didn't know how to respond. His features grew hard as he readopted his 'Protector' persona.

"Nothing, dear. We're just having a little disagreement," he assured softly, giving her a kind smile that immediately dissipated her worries (as well as all the other Jellicles he'd had to face on an emotional level). "Now come show me what you made before I have to go." She bolted over to the tabby, handing him a slightly wrinkled piece of paper.

His heart dropped when he took in the dark crayon marks. He saw the shape of the great stage tyre in the clearing, clearly defined in bright pink and orange swirls, with his and Jemima's disproportioned figures standing side-by-side on top of it.

"That one's me," she stated as she pointed out the red cat with brown hands, tail, and headfur: the one considerably larger than his grey figure.

"You're taller than I am!" he complained with a look of mock astonishment on his face.

"Because I have more fur," she explained simply. He could understand her logic, his fur was more sleek and flat whereas she was fluffier due to her age. He decided to accept this explanation without further inquiry.

"It's beautiful, sweetheart. Can I keep this?" he asked quietly to the kitten who just smiled and nodded.

"Don't wreck it though," she warned. The two adults couldn't help but chuckle, mainly for the sake of tension relief and to indulge the queen in happy memories of her mother and father together. It was the least they could do.

He promised her he wouldn't as he neatly folded up the paper and held it gingerly in his grasp. Giving her one last goodbye kiss he was headed for the door.

"We'll discuss this when I get back," he stated to the golden queen flatly, his face hard and set, his glare even but venomous.

"No we won't," she replied simply. _Not much you can do about that, Demeter_, he thought to himself bitterly; if it was a fight she was looking for, she got it.

The sticky mid-afternoon air was already starting to lift as a few clouds drifted over the sun, bringing a pleasantly light breeze along with it. It didn't take him long to reach the junkyard gate, its rusty metal door squealing with ear-splitting delight at the unfamiliar use; this entrance was only ever used in emergencies for it faced the rugged part of town that lead to all the abandoned warehouses. Unfortunately for him, this was not the sector in which his destination was located.

He growled distastefully, the minute he needed a ride his old rust bucket of a car dies. Well, it'd been dead for about a month and a half so he couldn't really complain, but he needed it_ now_. So, it seemed that his choices were now narrowed down to two possible options; he could either call a cab and spend $20 getting across town, or he could pay $2.75 (not including the many transfers he'd have to use and fare to get back) and take the bus. Neither seemed a very good idea considering the firearm and ammunition coined up in his bag.


	7. Chapter 7

Pouring a hearty bowl of Fruit Loops, Mistoffelees dragged himself into the living room to plop himself lazily onto the couch. He tried the flatscreen but it seemed as though the cable had, once again, been cut off. It took all his self-control, which he surprisingly had a lot of, to not march over to his neighbour's and put a bullet through his head._ Damn junkie can't leave my shit the fuck alone!_ Well, at least no one had stolen his DVD player.

Not feeling up to the job of crossing 4-5 feet, picking a movie, waiting for the slot to open, and sit back down; he decided to focus his attention on the fishtank that sat perfectly balanced on a birdcage hanger in the small 'window' looking into the kitchen. It was a contraption he cleverly made himself with the help of some magic. Five exotic and very expensive tropical creatures glided gracefully through the crystal water, reminding him why he hadn't eaten them yet; they were just too beautiful.

"What shall we do today..." he pondered as he shoveled another spoonful of not-yet-fully-soggy-but-getting-there loops. His mind wandered to the $500 sitting on the tiny, wooden table in the foyer. He could get a cab and go pick up his car; his weed and cocaine stash were inside. Or he could always walk to the Toggler and get wasted out of his mind. It was only a couple blocks away.

Although he looked like something straight out of Freddie Krueger's nightmares, he apparently looked decent enough to get admission into his preferred club; he had only been there thousands of times before so now he didn't even have to bother dressing up. He tried, however, but he never truly call it a successful clean up. Avoiding the queen-filled VIP section, he immediately hit the bar for some hard liquor; jumping right into a stupor seemed the more logical since he was on a tight budget.

He looked to the bartender, waved, and pointed to the bourbon across the bar-stand. While he waited for the tom to reach his end he decided to take in the sights and sounds. Since it was only 11:30 in the morning, there wasn't much going on. The music was on but the great club atmosphere just wasn't there; the place just seemed like a dark, empty, run-of-the-mill bar where those pathetic losers from the movies go to when their mate walks out on them for their idiot mistakes.

_Speaking of which_, he thought to himself when he looked across the bartender's pit to see an orange tabby checking him out. He narrowed his eyes menacingly but the other tom was too confident in his... panache to recognize the threat. The minute his order hit the table he downed it without thinking of the insane burn waiting for his esophagus. Mistoffelees found that, no matter how much you drink, that first shot will always be the real kicker. The main reason why he always started light.

He coughed bitterly, trying to stifle his shame but only turning the coughs to small, cute huffs.

"Awwwww," called the marmalade tabby from across the bar. He had scooted down a couple seats to sit on the same side as he was. "Someone get the lad a pint!" he ordered loudly to the uniformed tom.

Before he could protest, the inebriated tabby slid his own half-downed mug over to the tux.

"Here, have some of this, it'll put some hair on your chest," he broke off into a spell of giggles and hardy-hars. Mistoffelees just stared wide-eyed, quite unsure how to react to this oddly friendly cat. He didn't scare Mistoffelees in a way that someone who would try to drag him out to the alley way and slit his throat after he finished with him would- he would have shot him right there- but he did have that creepy uncle vibe. A creepy, Scottish uncle nonetheless.

"No thanks," he mumbled as he pushed the foamy mug away. "I don't need the extra chest hair, thanks," he mumbled flatly, referring to the extremely fluffy white fur on his chest. The other blinked confusedly before catching onto his little joke, laughing far too hard. The magic tom tried to turn away and ignore him, motioning for another bourbon.

"Well, ya do got lots there to start with. You been a friend of the pint for long?" Once again, hysterical laughter shook his ears painfully.

"Look," Mistoffelees snarled as he returned his gaze to the orange cat, who just so happened to be sitting right next to him now. His sudden change in demeanor seemed to have a bit of a sobering effect. "I'm just trying to sit here and enjoy my drink. I'm not interested in whatever you have to offer and I sure as hell am not interested in talking to some drunkard at 11 in the morning. Leave me the fuck alone."

He was met with a blank stare that was shortly followed by a long, low whistle. "You need a drink," he started, raising his hand to order another pint, the previous order still unfulfilled as the bartender resorted to ignoring the loud mouthed tom.

"I don't need your shitty-ass drink!" Mistoffelees snapped; this guy just wasn't getting the hint.

"I'm Skimbleshanks," he stated randomly. He held out his paw for the other to take, it wasn't quite a gesture with the intention of shaking hands but more of a delicate stretch. "I'm the railway train- cat of the railway... train." He turned over and chugged the remaining of his liquor, _more liquid confidence for the poor sap at the end of the bar, please?_

"That's very interesting-"

"What's your name?"

"Mistoffelees."

"That's a very pretty name!" Skimbleshanks slurred. "What kind of name is that? A candy flavour?... Miss. Taffylease?"

The tuxedo tom frowned. _One more drink and I'm changing bars_, he decided, he didn't have the patience to deal with this tom. "No," he replied flatly. "It's another name for the devil."

This was met with another low whistle followed by a large grin. "Don't tell my wife I was here. You don't tell mine and I won't tell yours," he bargained.

"Then shouldn't you be home so she doesn't think you're out drinking?"

"...Yes." They stared at each other awkwardly for a few minutes. _God, this bartender's slow_. As if on cue he showed up and delivered a shot glass filled to the brim with harsh alcohol. Mistoffelees downed it immediately, paid the bill (with a healthy tip for the shitty job because he couldn't be bothered for change), and headed for the door.

"Wait!... Taffy!" Skimble called out to him from the red-leather stool. He just shrugged him off and stormed out onto the sidewalk. Lighting a cigarette, he took a deep breath of the nicotine stick. _I'd rather be getting drunk at home_. And that's what he did.

Oo oO  
>O<br>Oo oO

Believe it or not, but when your house is bombarded with bullets and is set ablaze you tend to sober up pretty quickly, that is, if you live long enough.

Mistoffelees found that out the hard way when he woke up from his whiskey-induced coma to the sound of rapid fire and shattering glass. To say that he wasn't practically crapping himself with shock and fear would have been a lie. In fact, he would later thank the Everlasting Cat he didn't for the sake of the story, not that he'd admit to it.

He rolled over onto the floor and, using his elbows, dragged himself around the corner of the living room into the hallway. An endless stream of swear words that would put a sailor to shame hissed past his lips.

He waited until the gunfire stopped before he opened his eyes. His apartment was a disaster zone! Most of his knickknacks and furniture were blown to pieces to the point where he didn't even want to continue his inspection to the flat-screen; it would only break his heart. He tentatively crawled towards his bedroom where he knew his spare gun sat in his nightstand fully loaded; he would need it if they came in to check if he'd survived.

Crawling back to the living room, he could see some of the toms peeking through the windows to look for his corpse. Suddenly, the room filled with tear gas; he quickly realized that they were trying to smoke him out of his hideout so they could shoot him. He smiled bitterly; it definitely sucked being on this side of the fence. He could hear their muffled conversations through the many bullet holes in the front wall. He thought he could hear Carbucketty whining anxiously.

_Oh please, Car, not the Molotov..._

Lo and behold, not fifteen seconds later, the young tom's signature cocktail cracked loudly on the hardwood floor before erupting gloriously into a bounty of flames. He could feel his irises shrink spastically at the flickering flames erupting in his apartment. The usually calming sensation he got from watching something burn was oddly not there; it was replaced with an equally powerful sensation of fear and panic. Another hit the outside of his house and soon another wall of fire blocked his only means of escape.

"...Shit!" he hissed when he spotted his aquatic collection through the flames, the tiny creatures darting around the tank frantically. He zipped to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboard frantically before producing a cylindrical canteen. Working quickly, he reached into the fish tank and began scooping the fish into the silver bottle, capping it off once it was filled to the brim with his little treasures.

The heat burned and seared him painfully, licking up his back and frying his fur. He cried out miserably before he took off towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Here, the room remained unaffected by the flames but was black with smoke.

Reliable as ever, his instincts and experience took him through the procedures and tricks he'd picked up in his 22 years of Mafia upbringing. He set his bottle down in the sink and reached for the towel draped over the shower bar to wrap it around his hand. Taking a deep breath, he rammed his fist into the frosted glass window until it gave way.

He gasped as his lungs burned sweetly with the fresh air, doubling over despite the shards of glass. Snatching up the bottle of fish, he clambered out the window. He dropped seven feet onto the stone patio when his arms gave out as he tried to maneuver himself down the brick wall. Landing on his back, the breath was once again knocked from his lungs. This time his recovering muscles rung strongly under his skin and sent waves of bright white rippling into his vision. Luckily, his bottle of fish had landed on him... luckily.

Rolling onto his stomach, he painfully dragged himself from the burning house over to the thick wall of bushes that separated his yard from the neighbours- ironically it didn't work seeing that his cable was still being robbed. Reaching the bushes in one piece, the tux launched himself into the middle of the shrub where he was covered from view. Police were probably on their way by now.

Soft crunching sounds drew his attention to a place further up the hedge, he dared a peek through the green to find Musalini standing in his backyard, watching the flames. Mistoffelees's heart nearly stopped in his chest when he saw the fat tom lean over and pick up the spare handheld he'd taken from his nightstand.

He cursed silently, his black furred knuckles nearly turning white from its death grip on the canteen, face turning purple in breathless anticipation. To his surprise, the fat cat took a quick glance around the yard before tossing the gun into the fire through the obviously cat-shattered window.

He grumbled and coughed out a cloud of smoke before rounding the house back to the others. Mistoffelees watched the side of the house nervously for what seemed like hours before he finally heard the sirens in the distance.

Before he knew it, the front of the house was bombarded with police cruisers and fire trucks. Toms in navy blue uniforms searched for clues as the firefighters unenergetically sprayed off the remains of a charcoal-coloured, crisp frame of what was once a decent looking house.

"Damn," he hissed. He really didn't want to stick around any longer; the branches were beginning to poke him sharply and the rocks pressed against his underbelly were really starting to ruin his already dampened mood. Making sure no one would see him, he rolled out of the bush onto the neighbour's lawn and began making a mad dash towards the street after the house behind his.

Luckily no one notices when a dirt, twig, and smoke covered criminal runs away from the scene of a crime. Retarded cats from around here can't put two and two together. Once he reached the seven block boundary, he stopped and began to leisurely stroll on the tar infested sidewalk. After about five minutes, he managed to calm himself enough to allow rage to take over the last pockets of adrenaline in his system.

It took a great deal of strength to keep his raging fury under control, especially with the constant stream of cats and kittens passing and idling on the walkway, giving him wary looks and getting in his way. He almost wanted one of those big, bulky toms near 'The Crooked Uncle' to come over and start a fight with him. It wouldn't take much, he figured, they were already looking pretty drunk; a simple glance in their direction should be enough to set one of them off.

It didn't take him long to realize that he'd walked into his favourite part of town: Mini Vegas. The dirty and clearly unsuccessful shops had dissipated and gave way to those higher up on the consumer food chain. The dim 90 watts turned to bright neon lights that, despite the sun still fighting for its place in the setting sky, blazed hotly to burn cats' desire to visit other establishments along with their corneas. A business here was worthless if it didn't have the hypnotizing displays attracting their clientele.

He thought about going into one of the strip joints where he could sort out his already consuming anger in the privacy of a hidden booth, and with the encouragement of a few dozen drinks. He didn't even care if the whores working never showed to his table, in fact he was hoping they wouldn't. It then dawned on him that he didn't have any of the money left over from Musalini... it had burned with all his worldly possessions.

The pain in his right hand was enough to level him once again to a state of unstable calm and apathy. He didn't realize he was still holding his bottle of fish until the stainless steel cramped his hand as he tried to squeeze out his anger and frustration before he lost his cool.

He eyed the container, realizing he'd become thirsty. It would have to wait; he'd paid too much to drink these rarities. This was pathetic; not only was he growing hungry, thirsty and tired, but his moodiness was pecking at his loosening grip on the last ropes of his otherwise uncontrollable rage.

Loud laughing and hollering caught his attention to a secluded parking lot.

He knew those toms.

He instantly recognized the scrawnier one as his drug dealer, whose name he'd never really taken the time to memorize, and another, healthier tom named Admetus. He specifically remembered his name because the inexperienced teen once tried to hustle him in a pool match; he was so desperate for money. So, being the experienced gambler he was, he took the bet. It didn't take very long before Admetus was soon handing him his whole pot of earnings.

They were pushing around some fat, little tom like he was an over-sized ball of yarn.

"Hey," he called out.

The scrawnier tom looked up with a jerking motion, observing him momentarily before pegging him as one of his most valued customers. "Mistoffelees! How you been, pal? What can I do ya for?"

Mistoffelees took note of the uncharacteristically bubbly mood. He narrowed the possibilities to the tom being extremely high or he'd spent the morning with his little baby girl- or he was high after spending all morning with his baby girl. It wouldn't take all too much effort to manipulate him.

Mistoffelees simply shrugged. He wasn't feeling up to the small talk at the moment; knowing the topic would be his brand new little queen. "I need a ride to the warehouse," he stated nonchalantly.

"Yeah, for sure! Hop in, I'll take ya right now if ya want."

The taller tom beside him frowned acridly, obviously unimpressed with the tux for barging in on their little game.

The two pulled into the small parking lot silently. Mistoffelees could feel the blood pumping through his veins wildly, his brain set on complete revenge mode. His victim? Who else than the son of a bitch who just recently burned down his house and turned everything he'd worked for against him: Fucktard Jerrie.

The magician leaned forward to pop the glove box, pulling out a low-grade handgun. "This is fucking sad," he muttered to himself as he opened the cartridge to count the bullets: lucky him had three left in the gun. Three bullets for five toms (assuming they all wanted him dead). He would just have to count on them standing right behind one another when he shot them.

"I'll be right back." He swiftly swung the door open and took off stealthily towards the dark, ominous warehouse that defined itself as a dark shadow against the slightly glowing sky above the city.

"Yeah, I'll wait..." The strung out tom mumbled hesitantly; there were toms in this area that wanted him dead. He hoped the tux wouldn't be long.

Mistoffelees jogged the rest of the way. Everlasting, he couldn't have possibly parked any closer? It was a good 300 yards away at the least from where he'd gotten out of the car.

In the corner of his eye, a small glint in the darkness caught his attention. He froze and monitored the shadows wildly until a small blue blink flickered in the darkness. Curiously, he crept forwards, still unsure whether it could have been a threat or not.

Upon further inspection, he was thrilled to find that the blip was actually the anti-theft from his darkly shaded Jaguar. He hugged it gratefully before working the pass code-activated lock, playing the buttons like a mini piano until the door's locking mechanism disengaged.

A quick look around proved everything to be exactly as he left it; even the clip of Kameness' 20-dollar bills still lay pinched under the cup holders. He immediately went to the glove compartment but stopped himself when he realized he didn't have his key chain with him.

Of course, he was a tom who never actually found true use for keys; everything could be locked and unlocked as he pleased without the slightest bother. Though he had to admit that a key chain was a really clever way of keeping people away from his things.

He slowly began to rub the tip of his thumb over the lock. That, like every lock he'd ever encountered, obeyed without complaint and soon he was re-united with his own lovely firearm. The bullets were quickly counted, replenished, and the gun cocked for action.

He squirmed his way back over the arm rest and into the driver's seat to jump out of the car. A loud metallic click and the feel of a round, metal barrel against his left temple quickly locked him in place.

"Shit!" he breathed softly, eyes wide. He'd never actually been this close to the barrel of another gun before; his enemies were sure to never make it within ten feet of his person.

"Drop the gun and get out of the car," came the low, velvety voice of an obviously sure tom. Was he a cop? A new hitman? A spy? He tried to steal a glance at the tom in his car door but it was too dark to see anything. The stranger cocked his gun in warning. _Fuck! He's got a shotgun!_ It was apparent from the get-go that this guy was serious, but a shotgun? Now he was just being cocky.

"You wanna run that by me again?" he managed, though a little less confident than he'd wanted.

"A little confident for someone who's halfway to hell."

He swallowed hard when the cool metal reached around to tilt his head to face the open door. He couldn't see much of his attacker, but he could tell that he was fairly built and was probably in the business for a while. He still couldn't get over him having a shotgun. Still, a gun was a gun. He dropped his own in the seat next to him and held up his two empty hands to show his potential assassin.

"I have my foot in the door," Mistoffelees grinned cheekily.

"Well, don't let me keep you waiting, Mistoffelees."

The tux immediately lost his smile; _what the hell?_

Mistoffelees took a few moments to piece this mystery together, easily coming to the conclusion that others knew about his surviving the fire and had a cleanup guy to finish the job. "Who put you up to this? Mungojerrie? Macavity?"

"No one. I'm here to talk to the murderous bastard who thinks it's fun to blow the brains out of innocent cats."

The shadow's voice was flat and almost robotic. Surely he wasn't just some civilian who'd decided to take revenge for his buddy's murder. He had to of have some sort of background with the mob; he was too cold, too calm, for such a confrontation with such dangerous cats. Especially since he knew who he was messing with.

"I wish I could say I'm that bastard," Mistoffelees breathed shakily, trying his hardest to come off as uncaring- though he was secretly about to crap himself. "I fit the bill, but I'm not the one you're after."

He waited for the other's response but was only met with expectant silence. "I'm not in charge anymore. But, if you just give me a few minutes, I can bring you your tom with a lovely red ribbon to top it off. Assuming you want him dead, that is; he's not one for garnish or satin."

The figure seemed to stop at that, to bristle with anger a moment before re-configuring his plan. "Fine," he muttered through a clenched jaw. "Let's go."


	8. Chapter 8

Alright, I know I haven't uploaded in a while, but I decided to put up this chapter with a little announcement of sorts.

Due to lack of interest, I haven't really been posting and updating (as you may or may not have noticed) and I've decided that I'd rather pursue other stories (Like I've been doing). There's really no point in putting effort into the fic if no one's going to read, and I've been under some stress lately in my life that also demands my attention.

I apologize to those of you who_** do**_ read, but I can't post stories to a brick-wall audience.

I will keep writing, however, and I'd greatly appreciate your support in those as well. I am going to continue and finish my mpreg now that I've got a bit of spare time to work on it, and I'm considering the last chapters of my other stories ;)

I'm really disappointed it had to come to this :( In all honestly I was really excited to write this story! I've endorsed and tried to get the word out as much as I could, but I guess no one's interested in cats'n'guns ;) Maybe Misto was a little bit unsettling x)

Hopefully one day I'll come back to it. I actually have a crap-load of chapters saved up xP

* * *

><p>Alright. It was safe to say that he was getting thoroughly pissed off right now. Not only had his plan to pop several caps in Mungojerrie's ass gone out the window, but he now had some freak breathing down his neck about to pop several caps in his ass. He wasn't sure if this was irony or just someone's lucky day, but whatever it was someone was going to pay severely.<p>

He led his newfound friend to the hidden entrance he used to sneak in after curfew on his more rebellious nights. They were hardened criminals! They spat at the thought of being chained down like some bitchy, cigarette bumming teenagers.

His heart ran miles in his chest as he silently crept towards the steel metal door that lead to their main lobby. It didn't matter whether this guy was shadowing him, Mungojerrie still had what was coming to him! He'd just use a bit of...

He mentally smacked himself, he had magic. He had magic! No one stood a chance against him. He looked to his hands briefly before spinning on his heel and stretching them out at the featureless gunman behind him. The other tensed in preparation, raising his gun and taking aim at the centre of his chest.

Mistoffelees tensed and stretched his hands, fingers clenching and unclenching as he tried to manipulate the energy around him. Nothing came but the small chuckle of the larger tom.

"I'm so scared, really," he mused, a smile evident in his voice. Damn. He looked to his hands incredulously, just his luck that it decides to stall now. He just hated how incredibly retarded it made him look.

"Shut up!" Mistoffelees snapped before turning back to the metal door. It took a couple hard jerks before the metal wheels squealed down their track, revealing the group's main chamber; card table, whiskey bottles, magazines, and all. All, that is, except the toms themselves. He could feel the other tom tense up behind him.

"Where are they?" the shadow growled angrily though slightly wavering with uncertainty. Mistoffelees cringed a bit at the feel of the other taking aim, but he wasn't all too worried. Despite his obviously intimidating demeanor, he knew that if the tom didn't ultimately need him he would have been a goner by now... Which wasn't the case.

The tuxed tom immediately set to checking the upstairs and back rooms, not caring whether he got shot or not. Surprisingly, the other tom just followed behind him curiously, not nearly as imposing as before but certainly making his presence known. Every 'bedroom' was empty save for the desks and chairs that they found at the beginning of their time served there.

"What the fuck!" Mistoffelees screamed into the empty warehouse from the top floor. He ignored the murmured comment from the tom behind him and bolted down the metal staircase, heading for their stock closet. Every piece of ammunition and every morcel of edible food was gone, leaving dusty cans of beets and tins of powdered milk. Even the first Aid kit was gone.

He stopped, sighing mentally before turning to address his still anonymous companion. "They've moved on," he stated bitterly.

"What does that mean?"

"It means they've moved the base to another location. It'll be nearly impossible to track them down fr-" He was cut off suddenly when the gun was pulled horizontally and forced up against his small chest, pushing him up against the metal cabinet. His head snapped back, connecting with the rusty metal. Hard.

His head spun and hummed; he just couldn't catch a break! The muscles beneath the barrel stung angrily, not enough to cause him true pain but enough to make its presence known.

"What do you mean impossible?" the larger tom hissed, his face mere inches from his own. "They're your toms, call them back. Tell them their precious leader's looking up the mean end of a life of crime." Wow, Mistoffelees gasped internally, this guy had done his homework. Too bad it's outdated.

"You stalking me, buddy?"

"I'm not your 'buddy'," he spat in response.

"Fine," Mistoffelees grunted, lungs quickly growing sore and hot. "But, like I said before, I'm not your guy. I got demoted. Apparently I got fired too, as you can plainly see." The other gave a small scoff and chuckled lightly at his misfortune. Poor little tom got kicked out of the killing club. Pity.

"Alright." The gun eased from his chest, allowing him to take responsibility for carrying his own weight and returning his feet to the ground. "Now give me one good reason why I should let you live." The magician's eyes widened a fraction. He didn't have a reason, he never thought he'd get the option; when everyone's out to kill you, you just assume.

He took a minute to collect his thoughts and sort through any reason why anyone would want to let him live. This tom shows a lot of pity, he noted when the gun hovered silently in front of him patiently, it's slightly pathetic. If the tables were turned, surely Mistoffelees would of had him dead the second he saw him rummaging through the glovebox. Then again, he'd want to watch him squirm- maybe beg a little, before he killed him.

He inhaled deeply, preparing to deliver the (hopefully) winning answer. He opened his eyes, stared right past the gun's tip, and said very evenly, "Because I know how to track them down." He cough harshly, spitting up what hopefully wasn't blood. "Because I can probably help keep all your research from going to waste," he finished with a wink.

"So what's the plan?" Mistoffelees inquired cautiously as they exited the warehouse towards his car. The bigger tom waited by the door for the tux to deactivate the lock with the soft keys, nearly jumping when he turned around to find the smaller tom waiting at his side quietly. It was hard for him to see the little tom in the dark with all that black fur, even harder if he was looking away for the chest, neck, and face were the only givaways.

0284. "The plan?" He swung open the back door, tossing his shotgun in the backseat. He quickly shrugged off his backpack that the younger tom hadn't noticed until just now and, after a few minutes, produced two shiny rings.

"You'll be staying with me so I can keep a proper eye on you." Mistoffelees quickly figure that the rings were actually handcuffs. He jerked back sharply when the bigger tom reached out for his hand, missing it by a few inches and grazing his thigh.

"Back the fuck up!" the tux snapped angrily. "What the hell do you think you're doing!"

"I'm cuffing you... Hence the cuffs."

"Nuh uh, no way am I letting you cuff me. How do I know you're legit? How do I know you're not just going to do shit to me before killing me and dumping my body in the harbour?" He was met with dark silence. Small muscles in his stomach contracted at the deathly emptiness, blood rushing in his ears.

"You've got this all planned out, don't you?" the other laughed more light heartedly. "I'm not a pervert-"

"Well, knowing my whole life story doesn't help you any-

"Then I guess you'll just have to trust me."

Ah, trust. Mistoffelees hated the word- hell, he didn't even know the definition of trust! It was just a pathetic punchline his drug dealer offered when he told him the drugs weren't addictive, or the lie his father used before taking his virginity. Trust was just a bad joke everyone used against you when they wanted something, mainly something of yours.

"...I'm not getting in a car with anyone who says 'Trust me'. Besides, I don't even know your name."

Reaching into the car, the mysterious tom reached over the island separating the two front seats and grabbed the neglected Browning HP. Mistoffelees watched as he carefully removed the bullets and tossed the handheld into the backpack haphazardly. He gave the car a quick lookover on the inside before deeming it safe with his high-risk passenger.

"What's in the glovebox?" he asked suspiciously, turning back to the waiting tom.

"Nothing now. It's in your bag." The other nodded before crawling out of the car, straightening himself up before motioning his passenger to board.

"Get in."

The magician narrowed his eyes as his mind volleyed the idea of getting into the car. He figured that he didn't have much of a choice, he either risked going with this guy or wait for someone to recognize him and kill him on the spot.

Within minutes, they were silently driving down the main highway heading west towards the older district of town.

Mistoffelees sat silently with his canteen of fish in his lap, his one hand was detestably linked to the door handle with the lovely set of handcuffs. He opened his container to see tiny gills cutting through the surface of the sloshing water.

"What's in there?" came the now tired voice of the vague tom.

"Fish."

"Fish?"

"Yes."

An awkward silence fell between the two as they both turned their attention inwards to their own little worlds. A quick glance to the tom behind the wheel showed the tom's more simplified features in the glow of the dashboard. Passing a streetlamp, his figure was briefly saturated in the orangy glow. He could now easily say that the tom was a dull coloured tabby with black stripes, not much older than himself- though you could never tell by just looking at them since the tux's development kept him in the permanent state of adolescent size- but far more built and fit. His face was angular but mainly shaded so he couldn't say whether he was handsome or a complete troll. He turned his head to look out the windshield.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his companion cast a glance at the black bottle in his lap. He opened his mouth to speak. "I've got to ask: Why fish?"

"Well... Why a shotgun?" Mistoffelees volleyed back evenly.

"What does a shotgun have to do with you carrying a canteen of fish?"

"Why did you choose a shotgun?

"Because it's the only gun I own... and it's my favourite."

"Why is it your favourite?"

The stripped tom cast him another glance. This one seemed to say 'what are you getting at?'. It took a few minutes for the tabby to respond, trying to make sure not to reveal anything too dangerous for the tux to potentially use against him. "...It was my father's."

"He dead?"

"...No."

"Oh." Once again, the cabin was filled with an unnerving silence. God, he hated awkwardness- hadn't he suffered enough as a teenager? The silence, despite being his most savoured element, was unbearable.

"I chose fish," he began, a little too loud than what was necessary. "Because I like them. I think they are really cool but incredibly simple." He took a long pause to nervously watch a cop car zip by them; waiting until their car was pulled back onto the road before he continued. "I guess it's a bit ironic because I hate the water while these little motherfuckers can't get enough of it."

"That," the grey tom agreed. "And the fact that fish are food and not pets."

"I take pity on things too stupid to deserve such a cruel lot."

"...You're not one of those vegan activists, are you?"

"Fuck, no," he chuckled softly, closing the lid on the canteen.

"Oh, so you just believe that things without brains are too innocent to kill, and every cat deserves what they get." The tuxedoed tom looked to the bigger cat cautiously. Had he lost someone because of him? He guaged his reaction as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Cats get to make decisions. They 'reap what they sow', if you will. Fish cannot make decisions for themselves; they can't get involved with the wrong crowd and they can't try to screw around with the sharks-"

The car suddenly slammed to a stop, whipping him forward and nearly causing a wreck with the truck behind them.

Without warning, the tabby lunged from his seat to catch him by the chestfur. The pull was painful. There was more than enough force to practicaly pull out the whole patch of white fur; he dared not move or react for fear he might do just that if provoked any further. He figured that was the point of grabbing his fur and not the skin.

"You think you get to decide who deserves to live or die?" he screamed down at him, his face far too close to his. Close enough to kiss. He winced at the pain in his cracked shoulder as it was pressed up against the hard plastic covering of the arm rest.

The other tom's expression shifted into a darker shade of hatred and his voice took on a bone chilling tone. One, admitedly, he admired for its power and fear evoking undertones. "Why, Because you have a little gun? You ever wonder what it's like to watch your best friend die because fucking idiots like you think they're gods and play Everlasting Cat?"

"I'd imagine it would be just as hard as watching a buddy you've worked with your entire life get torn apart limb by limb for refusing to kill your none-too-innocent best friend," Mistoffelees rasped, sounding none-too-confident.

"You make me sick," he spat bitterly before shoving the tiny tom out of his grasp and returning to the task of getting them home.

The tux just sat silently and watched the bigger tom drive with a stone cold look about him; as if he were trying to merge his brain with the car and his body was now a lifeless shell. He smiled inwardly to himself: he had a feeling he was going to enjoy working with this tom.

The tabby pulled over ten minutes later in a McDonald's parkinglot. The engine was cut in a secluded corner of the lot that allowed for trees to conceal the car in the darkness outside the glow of the '$1.99 Muffin Deal!' sign. They sat in the dark for a good three minutes, watching uncomfortable looking cats take their orders through the squeaky 'drive-thru' window.

"Munkustrap," the silver tom stated quietly. He would have sworn the tux hadn't heard him if it weren't for the twitch of his ear silently giving away the little tom's piqued curiosity. "My name's Munkustrap."


End file.
